INFERNAL MAZE: THE 77TH HUNGER GAMES
by Vyrazhi
Summary: A re-working and remastering of my previous story, INFERNO. It has indeed risen from the dead, and this time it's NOT a SYOT. Can twenty-four tributes survive a nine-level arena, with nine hellish labyrinths, each one corresponding to the appropriate Circle of Dante's Inferno? Rated T.
1. PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS

_**INFERNAL MAZE: THE 77**__**TH**__** HUNGER GAMES**_

_A Hunger Games Fan Fiction Saga by Vyrazhi_

_**~ POV: Gaius Brutus Coriolanus, President of Panem ~**_

_GIVE THEM BREAD AND CIRCUSES! _

Failing that, give them death or glory, and that's exactly what twenty-four tributes are going to get.

Katniss Everdeen. Peeta Mellark. Haymitch Abernathy. Even Effie Trinket. _Pah! _Traitors one and all, and now they're dead. My predecessor personally supervised their executions at the Capitol, and in the true fashion of our ancestors, one of them was crucified. True, he was not nailed to his cross, only tied and left to hang after being severely scourged. Still, it took him five days to die, while all of Panem watched! That's what rebellion costs you, the price you have to pay. Everyone seems to have forgotten that, but I intend to refresh the people's memories. The Hunger Games have been reinstated, and shall continue until our nation no longer exists. This time, a Head Gamemaker stands at the helm, implementing his own design.

I perfected my Infernal Maze far before this, and set to work on constructing it long ere I became Head Gamemaker. I had the perfect location, materials and labor, and so why not set about undermining my less-ambitious colleagues before they designed an arena even more ingenious for the Hunger Games?

Nine circular labyrinths, nine levels deep, each with its own traps and hazards. Each labyrinth corresponds to a circle of Hell in Dante Alighieri's _Inferno, _one of the few works of classical literature that has survived since pre-Panem days. Such a gauntlet will be a fitting punishment for twenty-four of the hapless fools who followed the rebels, some through passive acceptance of their treason! If there's one thing that I've learned in my sixty-seven years of life, it's that even if you choose to do nothing, that is a decision in and of itself. You are either with Panem or against it, and we all know what happens to those who oppose us.

_Ligia? Is that you…? You're getting slow, old girl. Time to find a replacement for you, though I hate to. _

Enough! My Avox has served me well, performing her duty without having to be asked on most occasions. Nina always knows what I want, though she's twenty years my senior! She could have been my mother, but I would have killed mine if she rebelled against the Capitol! As it is, Agrippina is gone, and I daresay I'm glad. She was a nag and scold, always pushing me to try further, be stronger, do better, fight harder! It's amazing what supernatural wonders a little arsenic in one's early-morning glass of wine can perform…

Even so, the past is past. I am President of Panem now, and her specter no longer haunts me. Instead, I haunt the days and nights of all under my subjection! It is no wonder they call me the Ghost, because I never allow my face to be seen - not even on official broadcasts. Let that patsy Caesar Flickerman and his ilk have their place in the spotlight, because they're only my enforcers, and I'll get rid of them if I need to. The more concealed you are from the public eye, the better, and the less concealed they are from yours.

Let's see, now: twenty-three tributes are going to perish, and one become the victor, unless - of course! I'll have to contact my subordinate Gamemakers right away. What perfect justice, and perfect humiliation, it will be to rescue one of them from certain death and transform them into my new and perfect Avox! The first tribute to die will be the one, because that one is the greatest of all losers. Such a wretched creature must be made to pay for his or her utter lack of ability to survive in the Hunger Games, and pay they shall! As for the others, their deaths may be merciful or not, but at least they'll be spared the agony of full resurrection. They'll become muttations, of course, but since the victor must slay them all, luck will be on their side. Which is better, after all: to live as a slave, or to die fighting in the world's most brutal arena?

Slavery is a strange phenomenon: you might say that I myself am in bondage, since I rule all of Panem. It is my duty and responsibility to make sure that everything and everyone is kept in perfect order. If this is so, then how am I free? How am I at liberty to do whatever I please, even possibly ignoring rebellion?

_Turn our brand-new terascreens on, Ligia. That's the way. The District 1 Reapings are about to start…_


	2. DISTRICT 1 REAPINGS

_**DISTRICT ONE: LUXURY: REAPINGS**_

_**~ POV: Mars Cutullo, Age 17, District 1 Male Tribute ~**_

_KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. _

It's what someone named after the Roman god of war was born to do. It is his mission, his purpose in life.

I consider myself lucky that, unlike my fellow Career tributes, I have no friends or family ties. My parents were wise enough to give me up at birth, surrendering me into the arms of caretakers at a prestigious Training Academy. True, so did several of my rivals' dear mothers and fathers, but unlike mine, they write their children letters. Such a waste! Don't they know that in trying to build relationships with their children, born to win, they subtly encourage them to lose? Every moment spent reading a letter, responding to one, or even sending a photograph distracts our focus. The other tributes don't realize this, much to their detriment and my advantage! Being sidetracked by thoughts of home or family can be fatal in the Games.

You might wonder why I have such a large vocabulary if my only education has been in the ways of the arena. The thing is, I pay very close attention to our trainers - the words they say, and the innuendoes behind them. You may not think, "Get up, you filthy maggots!" has any other meaning, but it does.

Maggots are not only slimy, wriggling creatures, but also larvae. They're baby flies, and they have to be transformed within a pupa before they're adults. They're inexperienced, helpless, and alone, even in swarms. I know because there was a maggot in my food at the Academy once, and I killed the Avox who brought it to me. Even the maggot had more worth than that incompetent doltl! Out of curiosity I fed and raised it, watched it pupate, and rejoiced when it hatched a full-grown fly. When it emerged I pulled off its wings, just to see what it would do now that it had been deprived of its own purpose. Flies are meant to be airborne, but this one could only crawl. Once I saw how pathetic it was, I crushed it between my fingertips.

That's what I'm going to do to the other tributes in the Hunger Games, starting with one of our own.

I know it's against the Career "code", however unwritten, to knock another Career tribute off before most of the other Districts' sacrificial lambs are slaughtered. However, where's the real victory in killing an utter weakling, say from the Textile District, who never really had a chance? It's like shooting fish in a barrel, or more aptly, destroying a training dummy. Real victory lies in defeating the strong, not the weak. Of course, I'll limit myself to one Career kill before things get ugly, but if I play my cards right - perhaps striking during the bloodbath - no one will notice until it's too late. My compatriots won't trust me after that, but then again, all of us sleep with one eye open. None of us really trusts one another, because that's a sign of weakness.

Trust is a luxury no tribute can afford, especially now that two of us are about to achieve our destinies.

"Happy Hunger Games!" cries Olivia Warbler in her singsong voice. "May the odds be ever in your favor!"

She doesn't get it. Odds are for losers because skill, not luck, is what makes a winner. Also, the Hunger Games aren't about happiness, except for the victor. Most other Districts pretend it's a holiday, or try to, but for me it actually is. This is what I was born for, made for, and meant for, from the time I was just a gleam in my father's eye. Come to think of it, I don't even know who he is, or my mother. The only thing I know about them is that they named me Mars, and that's another boon for which I thank them. I may have no real family, but at least I'll make them proud when I go on my Victory Tour. Will I be able to spot them in the crowd? Will I finally _meet _them? Enough! I've wasted enough time on thinking of perfect strangers.

"Let's start with the ladies, shall we?" She draws a name out of the girls' bowl. _"PAIR-uh-dot Sartor!" _

Idiot! It's _PAIR-uh-doe, _not _PAIR-uh-dot, _and to my consternation, our District's female tribute storms up to the center platform. There's only one person in the entire world who stands a chance of taking her down:

"_I volunteer!" _My shout resonates over the crowd, and I take the stage before a boy's name is even drawn.

_**~ POV: Peridot "Peri" Sartor, Age 16, District 1 Female Tribute ~ **_

_I'M FINALLY IN THE SPOTLIGHT!_

Even when our District's male tribute commits a serious breach of protocol by volunteering before any boy's name is selected, I'm already getting noticed by the crowd. Olivia Warbler, that perennial bubble-head, has mispronounced my name. Look how ridiculous she is in her robin's-egg-blue wig and matching lipstick! Women from the Capitol always wear too much makeup, but that's not to say I don't wear any. In fact, I'm absolutely stunning, which is all the better for my chances in the 77th Hunger Games. For once _I'm _the hero, and not my spoiled sister Emerald. There's a strategic reason why my parents named their elder daughter after the more valuable stone. She was to be a socialite, marrying into one of our District's most prominent households, and me? I was the "contingency plan," just in case Emerald's future didn't unfold as Mother and Father expected. If my sister grew up to be ugly (she's not) or didn't have a stellar reputation (she does), they would at least have a Career tribute to show for all of their conjugal efforts.

As it turned out, however, her extravagant nuptials took place without a hitch two years back. Now, up until a few weeks ago, all everyone in my home and District could talk about was _Emerald, Emerald, Emerald, _and _baby, baby, baby! _It made me sick, and it made me even sicker when she had twins. They were all over the news, the three of them, but the rest of our fabulously beautiful and accomplished family was completely ignored! What's so great about having babies anyway? Every woman can, even the hard-bellied coal-miners' wives in District 12, unless there's something medically wrong with them. That can be fixed, especially if you live here in District 1 and can afford it. For the right price, every illness and inconvenience you've ever faced can disappear. You know what I've discovered, though? Wealth can't banish the green-eyed monster. In fact, combining money and envy is like adding gasoline to a bonfire.

While Emerald gets to live the good life, and nannies take care of the twins, I've had to toil away like an Avox! We train for twelve hours a day, but if you don't meet Career standards for any reason, you work for up to fourteen. She gets to be pampered and primped, while I stink to high heaven after every sparring match. If Emerald wants something, she gets it instantly, while no one caters to us. Every whim of hers is satisfied, while if we tributes want even one extra protein shake when we're sluggish, we have to earn it… Not only that, but in my sister's life, I suspect there's a lot less yelling and screaming, even _with_ two newborn babies! All we do here at the Training Academy, besides learn how to fight, is get verbally slain. Our trainers use profanities that half of us don't think are real words, and don't even call us by our names. We're "Girl One", "Boy Two," etc., - and that's what we're known as when they're in a good mood. When they're in a bad mood, which they usually are, all bets are off. I'm more often known in scatological terms!

"Shake hands, you two!" chirps Olivia Warbler with her plastic smile. "Did I say your name right, honey?"

"I'm Emerald Sartor Crassus' sister, Peridot," I answer with a blinding grin that's twice as big, "but you can call me Peri." I've got two things going for me at this moment: the fact that all my teeth are capped with the finest porcelain crowns, and the fact that I could be Emerald's twin even though we're not. I display the 5-carat signet ring featuring the gem that bears my name, proudly resting on the third finger of my right hand, and the sunlight catches it just right as myriad cameras flash into life. At the perfect moment, I give my hair a seductive toss, and it whirls around my face like the first snow. Technically, it's a very dark brown, but it looks black in almost any light. I slip my hand into my District partner's, but instead of shaking it, he brings it to his lips. The masses go even crazier after this, and they start chanting my nickname:

"_PERI! PERI! PERI! PERI! PERI!" _

Again, I beam and give them a wink. I wonder if it's possible: _do they know our secret yet? _Our family went into massive debt for Emerald's wedding, figuring that it would pay for itself with all the publicity she'd get. Once she had kids, we all figured, we'd be "back in black" again, doing more than simply keeping up appearances in the cutthroat world of social climbing in the Luxury District. The wedding, as I said before, was a smashing success, and the twins? Nauseatingly priceless, even though one of them peed and the other one pooped when I tried to hold them! Still, our family has only earned about 25% of the money back…


	3. DISTRICT 2 REAPINGS

_**DISTRICT TWO: MASONRY: REAPINGS**_

_**~ POV: Carter Gneiss, Age 18, District 2 Male Tribute ~**_

_VOLUNTEER, OR BECOME A PEACEKEEPER? _

Either way, more than likely, brings death, but only one brings honor to my family. Guess which one? My mother says that even while I was still in the crib, Father made a special mobile to hang over it. Instead of reaching for soft balls or star and moon shapes, I grasped at toy weapons. These were not fashioned after the tributes' instruments of the Hunger Games, however, but the more benign ones "Dada" carried. Who would giggle and coo while trying to grab a miniature machine gun or metal baton? Apparently I would and did, and loved it. I'd follow in the footsteps of my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, upholding Capitol law. That is what we Gneiss men are famous for, although we're not _nice_ at all. Our last name may rhyme with that particular word, but we didn't get where we are today by being friendly. On the contrary: the more intimidating and brutal we are, the better, especially when it comes to handling criminals.

Back when I was a little boy, and didn't understand this yet, Father pulled me aside one day after school. I had failed yet another test, and the first thing he did when I got home was give me a black eye. Then he pulled me right up close into his face, snarling: _"I know you haven't been given brains, Carter, but at least you could try to use the one you have!" _I nodded dumbly, tears flooding down my cheeks in rivulets, and remained silent. If I cried out or protested, I knew that Father would probably knock one of my teeth out. My two front ones were already gone, and I couldn't afford to lose any more. Thus, I made nary a sound. _"Your punishment's over," _he said after a few minutes, "_but if you flunk another exam, you'll get worse. I didn't raise you to be an idiot, but you're acting like a perfect one right now. You'll get no dinner tonight." _

That happened a lot, and it's why I can go without food for far longer than a lot of people in my District. It's true that we're one of the wealthiest in Panem, but unlike some super-rich families, mine isn't. Father is one of the best Peacekeepers for bludgeoning and subduing suspects, but when it comes to the politics of the Capitol's police force, he's a dunce. He says he won't "play the game" because it demeans him, but I know that he just can't. He's been passed over for promotions time and time again, but hasn't been able to figure out why. I keep on wanting to tell him that sometimes, the _peacekeeping_ aspects of being a Peacekeeper are just as important as the martial ones, but I know what'll happen if I actually do.

Thus, Father takes all his rage out on me, and Mother too if she's around. However, his preferred target is male. I'm his only son, and slated to do everything he says. _"A stupid book that some people read in pre-Panem days said that we're all made in God's image, but YOU are made in mine…" _Oh, how painfully I know it! To my dismay, I look just like him, and his eyes bore back into mine every time I glance in a mirror. I try to avoid doing so, and absolutely hate cameras. Even though they're absolutely everywhere, I keep my head down and my mouth shut. Someone from District Two should really have more _grit, _or so other people say, but they don't know me at all. I don't want to set the world on fire - only to stay alive. That's what I like about the Hunger Games. No one cares how smart or suave you are, but how strong.

"_Welcome, everyone!" _Contessa Kitsch, our District's escort, fixes us with her magnetic stare. _"Happy Hunger Games, and we'll let the gentlemen have their turn first." _She draws a name. _"Timothy Shale." _

We all gaze up toward the giant screens that have been installed in our stone public square, and watch as no one comes forward. When Contessa calls the boy tribute again, girl-like wails emerge from the silence. My father, of all the Peacekeepers in our District, is dragging a scrawny thirteen-year-old up toward the platform. The poor kid is bawling his lungs out, and he can't even walk. Instead, Timothy is on his belly, clawing at the hard granite for all his fingernails are worth as the man in whose image I am made curses and swears. Without a second thought, I charge forward and volunteer as District Two's male tribute.

Dashing up the three stairs to the stage, I almost miss the sickening _thud _of Father dropping Timothy Shale on the ground. Once he does, he gives me an unsettling smile, and I know exactly what it means:

_So, you want glory in the arena? You'd better return a victor, or else you deserve exactly what you get…_

_**~ POV: Seraphina "Special" Lazuli, Age 12, District 2 Female Tribute ~**_

_NO! IT JUST ISN'T FAIR!_

Doesn't anybody know who I _am? _Everybody should, at least if they watch TV in Panem, which everybody does! I'm Seraphina "Special" Lazuli, star of _A Very Special! Show _on Channel Two - the same number as our District. I can't be in the Hunger Games! Our annual _Special! Fashion Extravaganza _is coming up, and if I miss it, who'll show off the latest styles for preteen girls? Only one person could have gotten me into this: _Carnelian, _my best friend and worst enemy. She's my second-rate co-star, and probably slipped extra pieces of paper with my name in them into the girls' Reaping Ball when I wasn't looking! How else could I be in this mess right now, right when I'm poised to take the spotlight in our year's most important event? It had to be her. No one else could hate me so much, even if they pretend they like me on the show…

I'm not moving. I'm staying right here, even if the stupid Peacekeepers try to drag me up there screaming!

How did all of this even start? You might say that I was born to be a star, because I was. Mama had me specially designed, even before I was in the womb, through the latest genetic-engineering techniques. I don't have a dad. "Men," Mama said, "are nothing more than their gametes" (whatever those are), "and so I don't need one. All I need is a little girl to adore, and Seraphina, you are _it!" _She's the one who gave me my platinum-blonde hair, naturally-tan skin, and eyes that match the stone that's my last name. I've also been predestined never to be fat or overweight, no matter how much I eat! That cost poor Mama a fortune, but she could afford it because she's the daughter of a multibillionaire in District Two. Grandpapa owns a hundred TV stations, whereas most people who are in the media business only own twenty or so. He's the one who financed _A Very Special! Show, _as a matter of fact, and got me on it. Nothing is out of his reach, and the reach of his money. With that said, why can't he get me out of the Hunger Games?

"_Seraphina Lazuli?" _asks Contessa Kitsch, our District's silly escort. _"Honey? Won't you come up here?" _

_No. Way. _Everybody around me is staring at me, but I fold my arms across my chest and glare. They can go to the arena if they want, but I'm not! This reminds me of that awful time when I first met Carnelian.

As soon as Sable Talc, the host of _A Very Special! Show, _brought her out in front of the cameras, I knew she was trouble. She was every bit as beautiful as me, but the thing was, she didn't _look _like me at all! Her hair was jet-black, thick and glossy, and her tan was even better than mine. It was richer, more golden, and I found out that her last name was _de Oro, _meaning "of gold". How did Sable Talc even have the nerve to put her on _MY _TV program? Where in Panem was Grandpapa? Didn't he look over the script or something before the first episode with her even aired? When Sable told me to come and say hello to my new co-star, I just stormed off-camera and wouldn't come out until I had some explanation! All she said, though, was that we needed to "broaden our demographics," "expand our fashion repertoire", and whatnot. I didn't understand any of what she said, only that I was being ditched for someone just as pretty! Sable assured me that I wasn't being ditched, and was still the star, but we needed to get more people watching. _Hmph. _People watch us, all right, but would they if they could see what goes on backstage?

When I say that Carnelian's my best friend, I mean that sometimes she acts like the nicest person in the world, especially when the cameras are rolling. However, at other times she's meaner than a snake! She calls me a bunch of words that I don't understand, because they're not in English. Also, when no one is looking, she slashes my dresses and tells people that the wardrobe girl did it. I don't know what happened to Sage, Esmerelle, and all the other ones who did my costuming, but I haven't seen them since. I've done the same to her, but that just makes her ruin more of them. We're both at war, but nobody else knows. As much as I love doing my show, I hate her guts, and - what's this? She's heading up to the platform?

_Oh, no. You're not going to steal my thunder in the Hunger Games, or any other time, you little witch! _

I beat Carnelian to the tributes' stage by mere seconds, and two Peacekeepers have to drag her away.

"_There you are, Special!" _Contessa Kitsch beams. _"We were afraid we'd have to start without you!" _


	4. DISTRICT 3 FAREWELLS

_**DISTRICT THREE: ELECTRONICS: FAREWELLS**_

_**~ POV: C.Q. (also written as Ceekyoo), Age 15, District 3 Male Tribute ~**_

_SAYING GOODBYE'S HARDER THAN DYING. _

How do I know this, and at so relatively young an age? I'll tell you one thing for sure: it's not only because my name was drawn in the Reaping for the 77th Hunger Games. One person is missing from the "kiss and cry" room in our District's Hall of Justice, and I never got to bid her farewell beforehand. All because I was one of only five students to be selected for the Engineering Program, but only _afterward. _That particular word is the most loathsome one in the English language, because it implies another type of reaping. First comes the event, the turning point in your miserable life, and then you must suffer the consequences. Mom used to tell me a poem at bedtime every night, even when I was a teenager, about this very subject.

"Son?" asks Dad. "Do you remember the verse you always wanted your mother to recite? I wish I could…"

"I think she made it up," I reply, rolling my eyes and smirking lightly. _"Seven turns and seven rivers, while everyone else goes straight. Why don't you take the path they do? It only seems appropriate." _

My brother John is attempting not to cry, because his shoulders are shaking. That's how he tries to hide it, but it never works very well. "Don't finish it. _Please_ don't. This is only one of your life's turns, little bro."

I hug and clap him on the back. "You really think I can win?"

"With your smarts in electronics? You'll blow the other tributes up before they even know what hit them!" He's snickering, but it's not funny. The Hunger Games aren't games at all: they're a scheduled annual massacre, a bloodbath where only one out of twenty-four people our age walks out of the arena alive. I've heard people talk about how they're a display of our "most recent repentance" and "newfound loyalty to the Capitol", but in District Three, the only ones who believe these things are the Peacekeepers. The rest of us know that the Games are a brutal punishment, not penance. Even our foreman at Factory Eighteen has his doubts about the goodwill of President Coriolanus and his ilk. Foreman Avery may be rich, but here that only means he has enough food to eat and a roof over his head that doesn't leak. He also had a mistress, until she told him she was sick of breaking her wedding vows so her son could be an Engineer.

Is that what Dad's thinking about right now, with gaunt face and black circles around his sunken eyes? He works eighteen hours a day at the television factory, bumped up from sixteen ever since - ever since -

"She's gone, Charles," he whispers in my ear as he pulls me close. "She never meant to hurt you, me, or your brother. Hallie wanted you two to have the best, instead of what we had, but this was the only way."

"_B.S.!" _I'm close to screaming. "If that's true, then why the hell didn't John get into the Program as well as me?! The truth is that Foreman Avery knew from the very beginning that he was only going to choose one of us, and made false promises to her. Mom cheated for nothing, and you know it, Dad! Why don't you tell me how she _really _died, instead of lying? It was no accident, was it? She was the world's safest driver!"

He shakes his head over and over, weeping openly. "Why would knowing do any good, especially now?"

"_TELL ME!" _

Dad speaks in monosyllabic sobs: "Car. No belt. Lake. Window down." He slaps his hands over his eyes, and in that moment I know the truth. Mom couldn't live with the shame and guilt of having betrayed her family, even to give the youngest members of our family a better life. Ambition at its finest, all for us. It's funny: Before I entered the hallowed halls of District Three's Academy of Engineering, I went to regular school and then the factory. My Teachers knew I had talent, but so did a bunch of other kids in my class. Apparently, being a bona-fide genius wasn't enough to help you escape fourteen-hour drudgery. Palms had to be greased, and since my parents barely had money, another type of currency simply had to do…

"Seven rivers, okay, C.Q.?" My brother John bear-hugs me again. "You'll cross this one. Do you hear me?"

_**~ POV: E.V. (also written as Eevee), Age 13, District 3 Female Tribute ~**_

_BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER? _

That's what people say, but what they actually mean is that family ties are deeper than friendships. In my case, though, all I _have_ are friendships! I was transferred from one of the homes for orphans here in District Three. However, the funny thing is, that happened through and by a computer-production facility. In my so-called "Employee File", which contains the official documentation of my birth and adoption, it lists my one single parent as Factory Ten. I have no mother or father, only a workplace, which is just as well. My friends tell me that often, their parents who are still living are a lot like our Foremen: _"Pick that up!" "Do that again, right now!" "Are you an idiot?" "Why are your quarters a mess?" "Faster, faster!" _Who needs a mom and/or dad when you already have one boss breathing down your neck? You don't need three. Nevertheless, I wish I had parents to wish me farewell before I go off to the Hunger Games, and might die.

Here in the "kiss-and-cry-room" of District Three's Hall of Justice, one of the most ornate partitions I've ever seen, my friends all cluster around me. There are at least twelve of them, including K.T. (Kaytee), L.D. (Eldee), R.M. (Arrem), S.C. (Escee), and O.B. (Obee). The rest of us call the last guy "B.O." from time to time, because he smells occasionally, but you know what? Who cares? When you work such long hours at the factory, not to mention right after gym class at school, you sweat. Thus, we accept him with open arms (if not with open noses). I'm so glad they're all here, because I sure can't do this by myself! "Hey, Eevee?" asks Kaytee. "Remember that one time at school when we prank-texted our Teachers?"

"We did that _all_ the time," I rejoinder, rolling my eyes good-naturedly. "Most of them never figured out that it was we Fab Five who were the culprits, and not one single student. The best ones were those you sent."

"No way!" Escee begs to differ. "Kaytee always pretended that she was some hotshot Foreman wanting the Teachers to give us a break on our homework so we could toil longer over there, but her texts weren't funny. _Mine_ were actually funny. _"Get More Pillow Prowess in Ten Days? _I sent that to a female Teacher!"

"If I recall correctly," says Eldee, "our 'English Foreman' thought that text was an ad for sleeping pills…" We slap our hands over our mouths and start snickering, and the Peacekeepers glare at us. There's not much time left, so we have to do all the reminiscing we can before I have to board the train for the Capitol. Luckily, Eldee picks up the slack after the split-second silence that comes after we're done laughing. "When we weren't goofing around, however, we were actually doing good things for our District. Right?"

"_Ugh." _Arrem wrinkles his nose. "You mean collecting trash and doing diaper detail at the orphans' home?"

"On the seventh day of the week, too?" Kaytee hadn't liked doing that, either. "I could have been sleeping."

"Hey, somebody's got to be civically-minded around here, so why not us?" I remind her. "We touched a lot of lives - not so much with the garbage cleanup, but do you remember all the infants with no parents? I was one of them, you know, adopted by a factory, and so I thought we might as well try and change the future while we can." At the others' skeptical glances, I wink. "Even if it means wiping behinds, every little bit helps." The two Peacekeepers guarding me point at the clock, and my stomach lurches. "Hug time!"

One by one, my friends embrace me, and then I'm escorted to the train. A flood of cameras and reporters engulfs me, and I realize something. The epiphany, far from being a positive one, brings only dread: _Where are they now? _Where are Kaytee and Eldee and even "B.O.", whom all of us had secretly scorned? Where are Escee and Arrem, and the others who weren't part of our "Fab Five"? They sure aren't here. It's true that none of them had been Reaped as a tribute for the 77th annual Hunger Games, and I was. However, none of them volunteered for me when my name was called, even if I'd _wanted _that to happen! What they'd done was just stand there, shocked nonetheless, but they let me go up there to the stage anyway. _They'll move on. _They'll be safe here at home, even if that safety consists of slaving away at school and factory work for fourteen hours a day. They'll have food to eat, however little of it there may be.

Perhaps the worst epiphany of all is the one that comes after these: _I have no friends - not anymore…_


	5. DISTRICT 4 FAREWELLS

_**DISTRICT FOUR: FISHING: FAREWELLS**_

_**~ POV: Mikhail "Misha" Rybakov, Age 18, District 4 Male Tribute ~**_

"_YOU VOLUNTEERED? AND OUR SECRET?" _

He murmurs in my ear, and my skin crawls. This man is neither my father nor my friend, but the one to whom I owe my life. He was the master of the vessel on which my uncle and I toiled as fishermen: I young and lithe, and he elder yet seasoned. We'd taken on far too much water that day, having hit submerged and craggy rocks. Had it not been for the gentleman across from me in the Hall of Justice's waiting room, we would have been submerged as well, in a rather permanent fashion! Here's the odd thing, though: The captain of a sinking ship, according to tradition, is supposed to go down with it. He did not. His family was certainly waiting at home, of course, but that's not the only reason he chose to abandon the _Myrmidon. _He had quite a bit of clout as well, via _business affairs,_ to which I was completely privy after that fateful day.

"Rybakov?" he asks, his gaze at once beatific and chilling. "Don't you have anything to say, my boy?"

"_Dyadya is dead." _Can he see the black void unfolding behind my steel-grey eyes? "Don't make it worse."

My benefactor is wise enough to remain silent at this time, yet foolish enough to let his anxious expression betray him. I know what he's remembering: exactly why my uncle lost his life, and who caused him to lose it. I can't tell whether he's genuinely afraid, or if his fear is a mask for his fury. Perhaps it's both, although I can't afford to find out now. I'm about to board the train for the Capitol and the 77th Hunger Games. As he said, I've volunteered. I figure it's better to die now or win outright than to let the Peacekeepers exploit the guilt that I carry. It's like a tiny fish bone lodged in my throat, and the more I try to clear it, the deeper it penetrates. My lungs feel as tiny as a baby's right now, and my breath as constricted as a drowning man's even though I'm above water. I notice that the two Peacekeepers aren't looking at me, but _him _instead.

"Captain Harrigan! So nice to see you here," one grins. "Always a gentleman and a philanthropist."

Indeed! He's built several hospitals in the Fishing District, including one named after him, and also two libraries and a theater. Other than that, he donates to every charitable cause imaginable while still making a tidy profit off of the sea for himself. He has a beautiful wife, two beautiful mistresses, and five children who are all going to grow up to be beautiful: two girls and three boys. As for servants, he has countless maids and butlers, not to mention the people who work at the high-end restaurant he owns. That's his new occupation, because after that horrific day in the eleventh month of our year, he figured he'd better stay on land. Why didn't it break his heart to have to leave the wind and waves behind? It would've broken mine…

"Thank you, Peacekeeper," he says. "I've pulled myself up by the straps of my own boots, still strong."

_Oh, yes? Why don't you tell him about the lad you pulled up out of the thrashing ocean, who has since become your most obedient slave and partner in crime? Why don't you tell him how I became your unpaid accountant and "cooked your books", and Uncle Vanya threatened to expose you instead of me? Most of all, why don't you tell him about the threat you made to me: murder my uncle, or be assassinated myself? _

Instead of any of these things, Harrigan turns to me in order to give some sage and patronizing advice:

"Come back a winner, dear Misha, or don't come back at all! You know how much this means to me and to your family. You only have your sister Nina left, and what would she think if you perished in the Hunger Games? I daresay you should have been a Career tribute instead of a lowly crewman, but if that would have been your lot in life, you never would have met me! Thank heaven for small blessings, eh? Use all the training you've received at the hands of the sea. She'll never let you down, even though your weapons might. You've wrestled sharks with your bare hands, coming out with nary a scratch sometimes, which is far better than I could ever do! By the way, do you know anything about the lovely lass who was Reaped?"

"No," I answer honestly and sadly. "Truly, Captain, I can't say anything about her chances, or my own…"

_**~ POV: Daisy Sayre, Age 16, District 4 Female Tribute ~**_

"_JAKE? I THINK I'M PREGNANT…" _

My boyfriend gapes at me. He's cute when he's shocked, and right now he's the cutest I've ever seen him: "How can that be? I know we made out a few times at your house, when your parents weren't around."

"We did more than that, Tweedle-dee." That's what I call him when I'mtrying to be cute, and he calls me Tweedle-dum in return. It kind of irks me, but the nickname stuck ever since we ran across an archived e-book at the Anthony Harrigan Library. It was called _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, _and we read it together after school. Luckily for us, Jake and I are rich enough not to have to work or go out fishing every day. His family owns several ships in our District's largest marina, and mine owns five Seashell Shops. (Say that five times fast!) It may not sound like a prime venue in which to make a fortune, but it is. When you've got a lot of fashion-minded teenage girls like me running around, with money to burn, they will. What better place to spend it than the trendiest clothing store outside of the Capitol, and Districts One and Two? Take it from me: I've recycled thousands of dollars into my parents' bank accounts over the years!

Jake still can't believe what I've told him. "It can't be true, Daisy May. We used protection, and, well, it's not my fault!" His lower lip is trembling visibly, and he gently puts his hands on my shoulders. "How can you compete in the Hunger Games, if you really are pregnant? Why don't you ask the Peacekeepers to let you see a doctor? They won't let you into the arena if your test turns out to be positive, will they?"

I shrug and pretend to be nonchalant. "How should I know? That's never happened before, has it?"

Jake pulls me close, and his grasp is so tight that I fear I'll shatter within his arms. "Listen. It can't happen. It couldn't, and shouldn't. Make them allow you to visit a physician, for both our sakes. Once this god-awful mess is straightened out, then everything will go back to normal, and -"

"_Mess? You're_ the one who wanted to mess around, Mister, and you're not getting off that easy!"

"Daisy. Look. I want things to go back to the way they used to be."

"You mean before I told you this?"

"No." His tone seems to have changed suddenly, and I don't know why. All I can tell is that the dead-serious look in his eyes is worrisome. "Back in the good old days, before Panem, even, when something like this happened, boys took care of their girls. They took responsibility, and if you're in a family way, I'll do that. Let me bring you home, Daisy. Let me help raise our child, if indeed there is going to be a child."

I'm stunned: "Does this mean you want to _marry_ me?"

The expression on Jake's perfectly-tanned face morphs from gawking to grave to giddy in seconds. "Yes, it does! Tweedle-dum, will you be my wife?" He gets down on one knee and beams up at me. "I know I don't have a ring yet, but I will. After we get back home, everything will be all right - you, me and Junior."

"What did you call me?" The nickname rings hollow in my ears.

"Tweedle-dum?" Horrified at the mistake he made, he clasps my waist. "I thought you liked it! It's cute!"

"Cute to you, maybe, but not to me. I know you never minded being called Tweedle-dee, but where I come from, _'Dum' _has another meaning." I pause. "Is that all you really think of me? I'm just a silly, pretty girl?"

"You're _my_ girl!" He clutches my waist even harder. "I didn't mean it, Daisy. It just fell out of my mouth!"

"Goodbye." Two tall Peacekeepers at the Hall of Justice, who have borne witness to our ever-so-romantic farewell, escort me to the Capitol train. As for Jake? He howls my real name over its piercing whistle.


	6. DISTRICT 5 TRAIN RIDE

_**DISTRICT FIVE: POWER: TRAIN RIDE**_

_**~ POV: Orion Watts, Age 12, District 5 Male Tribute ~**_

_TRANSHUMANISM. CYBERNETICS. AUGMENTATION. BIOMECHANICS. HAPTICIAN. _

Only now am I beginning to understand the words I heard as a curious toddler, around two years old.

Once upon a time, not so long ago, I thought I was just a normal kid. Sure, I can memorize information a lot faster and better than the other students at District Five's Power Academy, but that doesn't make me so great. I have a lot of weaknesses, especially on the athletic field. How would you feel if you were blind as a bat, yet your Teachers said that you still had to be in Physical Training? Not only that, but you had to take it for two hours per day as opposed to the usual one? Do you know how many balls I've missed, how many punches and kicks I've failed to dodge, and how many laps I've run without having the slightest idea where I was going? I wasn't born blind, or so it states in my SBR (Subject Biomedical Record). However, having my sight taken from me was all part of the plan. Apparently, the researchers who raised me have done the same to my ability to hear, smell, and taste. There is only one sense left to me, and it's so hyper-acute that I'm able to reach for a fly buzzing around the room and catch it. That's why I'm known as a _haptician, _based on an ancient word referring to the sense of touch. Why have I been _changed_ this way?

Our District wants to win the Hunger Games, and Mayor Climent has been clamoring for the perfect tribute for years. "One that's absolutely incapable of being distracted," he says, "and has only the capability of recognizing his or her world through tactile sensations. I've dreamed it; now, someone _do_ it!" That's his favorite motto, and I've always wondered: Why can't he do it himself? As long as he's run the Power District, he's always delegated someone to do his dirty work, whether it be Peacekeepers, a myriad of "administrative assistants", or surgically-enhanced mutants like me. Thus we have to suffer while he reaps the credit. That's the way it's always been, and the way I see it, that's the way it'll always be. Nothing escapes his purview, including the relatives he'll sacrifice for "District glory," meaning his own ambition!

It's weird: I feel more akin to this high-speed vessel zooming me along to the Capitol than any of the other tributes. To save money and energy, instead of all of us taking separate trains, we're on one. Its first stop was District One, then Two, and so on down the line until it reaches Twelve and then returns. The thing is, how much of our precious resources is this method of travel really saving? It seems more expensive to me, but then again, I'm just a little lamb on my way to the slaughter. Maybe not. My mission is to slay, and not to be slain. I've made brief mental notes on everything I've learned about the other tributes so far.

_My District partner: _Very weak, but very smart. Loves to play chess. Can I win against her? Have to try.

_District Three Boy: _Electronics guru. Can he give me upgrades and not kill me? Carries RAT in pocket.

_District Twelve Girl: IDIOT! _Not at all like Katniss Everdeen three years ago. Dances, even on the train.

_District Eight Boy: _Have to watch him. He may work in the Textile District, but he has a predator's manner.

_District Seven Girl: _Eats like a pig. Makes me sick to my stomach. I sit next to her at all our meals. _GAH! _

_District Eleven Boy: _A cipher. Whenever I come even within centimeters of him, it's like he's not there…

I absorb my surroundings like a sponge, even though four of my five senses have been obliterated. Food tastes like nothing to me, but its texture haunts me every time. This rough yet round vegetable with a smooth stem is cauliflower; this smooth and slightly slimy concoction is pudding; this hearty slab is steak. I've long since ceased to wonder what any of it looks, smells, or tastes like, because as Mayor Climent says, these are only distractions. If I'm going to win the Hunger Games and bring my District the rewards that it deserves, I can't afford to let my attention veer from anything except hunting my compatriots. At the research laboratory where I live, I've caught and killed plenty of things before, especially vermin that have been introduced to the environment for my own sake. "Vermin", in this case, include human criminals.

_**~ POV: Caissa Scheveningen, Age 17, District 5 Female Tribute ~**_

_C5. D6. KNIGHT TO F6..._

With a move of my pawn to the E6 square on the black-and-white board, generously provided to us by our District Five escort, I play the Scheveningen variation of the Sicilian defense. That's what I was named after, besides the Muse of chess. My name is pronounced _kah-EE-sah, _with three syllables instead of two. "You're an excellent player," grins Mikhail Rybakov from District Four, "but I might be slightly better."

"Even after all the fishing you've had to do, day in and day out? _Ha!" _For some reason, I can't stop myself from laughing uncontrollably. "Let's make a bet. If you win, you get anything you want that I can give you." Biting my lower lip, I let out a slow hiss through my front teeth. "Except for a victory in the Hunger Games, of course." _Stupid, stupid, stupid! Don't let him gain any kind of advantage over you. Crush him, NOW! _I've never been very good at making friends, but this is all new to me. The look in Misha's eyes is a barely-familiar anomaly, one I've only seen before on the faces of boys I've liked, but who never reciprocated my feelings. They went for fitter, prettier girls, and ones with able bodies. Cerebral palsy is not one of the qualities guys want in a potential S.O., but Misha? He gazes at me as if I'm not only normal, but priceless.

"_DURRRRRRR!" _That was what the girl from District Nine called me, a natural sprinter if I ever saw one.

More unsettling was the District Eleven boy's pronouncement: _"Even though you're brave, you're first to die." _His eyes were beads of onyx, and just as cold and lifeless. I shudder and remember this, accidentally losing a knight to one of Mikhail's attacks. Blinking, I try to recover and concentrate on our game again.

After seventeen years, why does it hurt so much when people hurl insults like that? I should be used to it, because back home, it's a typical and vital part of several students' days: _wake up, eat breakfast, head off to the Power Academy, make fun of Caissa, go to class, and make fun of Caissa again in the hallway. Push her, trip her, "dance" with her so she'll fall down, spit on her new shoes, and do everything you can to make sure she knows she's a loser. She's not wanted here, and should never have been born in the first place! _Even though I hate to admit it, that's part of the reason why I sacrificed myself as a tribute… "Why'd you volunteer?" Mikhail's question makes me jump. I'm always startled by sudden loud noises.

"Trust me: the only girl more despised by the kids at my school in District Five got Reaped. She's also a delinquent, and my best friend! I say better me than her, because Verlan deserves a second chance. I've already had mine." Quirking my eyebrow, I ask him, "Why did you volunteer? Are you a secret Career?"

Misha laughs. "Hardly! I simply want to make my uncle, an immigrant from Russia, proud, although he passed away three months ago due to food poisoning. Poor Vanya was oddly allergic to any shellfish."

"I'm sorry." There's nothing more I can say, because another thing I'm really bad at is consoling someone in his or her grief. It's one of the social skills I've never mastered, no matter how hard I've tried in the past. Even worse, the girl from District Nine dashes up to me and sees how many times she can scream the word _retard_ in my left ear in sixty seconds. By my count, it's at least twenty, although the syllables blur into one another. When she's done, my eardrum burns like fire, and I'm squinting my eyes shut against tears. After a long while, with Misha's hand pressed on top of mine, I hear a more compassionate voice nearby:

"That was uncalled-for," Ceekyoo grumbles, from District Three. "Someone wants to see you. Hold really still, all right?" He reaches into the front pocket of his denim overalls and removes a sleek white rat. "This is Euclid." As I giggle, C.Q.'s beloved pet snuggles up against my neck and licks me. "He's grooming you."

"Caissa? _Ya postavlyu mat," _declares Mikhail in his native language. "I deliver checkmate, although your defense was beautifully calculated." As I blissfully discover later that evening, once all of the bullies and hyper-observant tributes are asleep, that pivotal chess match against him isn't the only thing I've lost…

_Euclid? Why in Panem are you here in my cabin? That's my ear! No, no, no! Go climb on Misha a little!_


	7. DISTRICT 6 TRAIN RIDE

_**DISTRICT SIX: TRANSPORTATION: TRAIN RIDE**_

_**~ POV: Brandon Shimkus, Age 14, District 6 Male Tribute ~**_

_I REPAIR MACHINES OF PEACE. _

Unlike most of my fellow young people in the Transportation District, who toil and act like resentful slaves, I take pride in what I do. The Peacekeepers depend on mechanics like me to keep their vehicles in top shape, and without my work, our protectors and benefactors couldn't do theirs. Say what you like about my friends in white, but they never abuse me. I can correct anything, any problem, that's wrong with their magnificent hovercrafts. For that I'm invaluable. That's why I'm furious my name was drawn in the Reaping for the 77th Hunger Games!. I'm a fixer, not a fighter! What will the Peacekeepers do without me?

On the one massive train to the Capitol, instead of the separate rail that my District partner Emma and I should be taking, I've asked to be put to work. I don't want to interact with any of the other tributes. People annoy me because they're mean and unpredictable, unlike machines. I see the looks on the faces of the "guests" in my District, meaning travelers, and want to stick my mouth on an exhaust pipe for an hour. Just because they're wealthy enough to jet all over Panem, that doesn't mean they have the right to sneer at the "wrench-heads" who make their planes, trains, and automobiles function properly! Sure, at the end of the day, I may be covered with grease and sweat, but I _have_ heard of taking showers. Come to think of it, I've taken more on this high-speed journey than I have in a while, even when the Peacekeepers let me. For some reason, water is strictly rationed in the Transportation hub of our nation, especially for the poor. Now I can let the hot water run all I want in the shower, but there's always plenty more for everyone else!

When I'm fixing things here on the train, tightening bolts and replacing screws, I have no time to think. If I have to kill twenty-three other youth with me in order to survive, I don't _want_ to have to think about them. Who cares about the pathetic little sob story of the boy from District Ten, or that inane girl from Twelve? Does she honestly think that you can wish all your troubles away simply by thinking happy thoughts, or dancing like a fool? Cheesy showmanship like that may be well and good for securing sponsors, but what's the point of that if you get killed before you even reach the Cornucopia? I've watched the Hunger Games before, as have the rest of us, and they're not about sponsorship or even product placement. They are about nothing but watching twenty-three young people die for your own damned entertainment! Pardon my language, but I'm a mechanic. The Peacekeepers would cut out all of my "grease-monkey" compatriots' tongues and make them Avoxes if they knew how much we all cuss, but_ I'm _their protégé.

I work alone. I walk alone. I eat and sleep alone, and I'm certainly going to win the Hunger Games alone!

I don't need allies, because they'd only be a distraction. What would happen when I had to kill them?

Another great thing about repairing the Capitol train instead of trying to "make friends" is that there's no time for the _incident _to come back into my mind. That's what I'm calling it right now, just as we do on our official forms in District Six, whenever there's a travel- or machine-related problem. This time, however, it was a little more complicated than a misrouted plane or loose fan belt. Little Killian Murphy, who's only six, disposed of used motor oil alongside me. I never thought he'd up and steal my toolkit, but he did one day. I knew him. I was responsible for him and my tools, and damn it, _I_ was going to deal with Killian! Instead, the Peacekeepers spotted him right away, and they had to climb into a hovercraft and chase him. I may have found Killian irritating with his constant chatter, but - sometimes it was oddly soothing to me. I figured he would get good money for my precious wrench set on the black market in our District, but he never got away. My friends in white - well - they caught him, but instead of using the regular force field to do so…

I can still see him writhing on the ground, lacking the strength to scream. Killian was electrocuted, slowly. My own toolkit, the prize which he clutched in his right fist, became the instrument of his torture and death.

_Agh! Stupid, stupid, stupid! _If Killian hadn't been such a little twerp and swiped my toolkit, he'd still be here. Life has rules, and here in Panem, you play by those rules or you die. Keep your head down and your mouth shut, do what you're told on the double, and you'll survive. That goes for the Hunger Games, too.

_**~ POV: Emma Portnoy, Age 15, District 6 Female Tribute ~**_

_I'M AN ADDICT. WHO CARES? _

I see every expression on the faces of the other tributes on the train with perfect clarity. Some of them are confused, like the poor girl from District Five's: _Why are you jaundiced, and why are your eyes so wide? If you're that ill, you shouldn't be in the Hunger Games at all… _Some of them are judgmental, like the guy from District Eleven's: _I picked fruit for twelve hours every day before I volunteered, and I can get through life WITHOUT drugs, thank you very much. _Some of them are incredulous, like the Careers' looks: _I can't believe they're letting a junkie like you into the arena when your symptoms aren't even gone yet. _Worst of all, however, is the smile on the girl from District Twelve's face: _It'll all be okay. Just THINK POSITIVE! _

She reminds me too much of my one sponsor, a social worker from my own District who's backing me in Panem's annual slaughter of children ages twelve to eighteen. Her name is Dr. Eileen Pappa, although I know she's not really a doctor. Ph.D.'s come easy when everyone around you is almost too addled by exhaust fumes to be able to read and write. However, "easy" is a financial term, not one of intellectual difficulty. You might not think that social workers make much money (and they don't), but Dr. Pappa is engaged to the pot-bellied pig who runs our main Peacekeeper transport hub. Here's some stuff she says:

_"I'm not here to cure you; I'm here to help you cure yourself." _

Look, I take and need Morphling because of back pain from hauling people's luggage around, not out of boredom or ennui. Yes, I know that word is pronounced _ON-wee, _too, so don't treat me like an idiot. I don't _want_ to be cured unless, and until, you get me out of the drudgery which utterly destroys my skeleton!

_"Inner turmoil is the slingshot to happiness." _

What in Panem is this pointless platitude supposed to mean? How can inner turmoil make you happy?

"_And how does that make you feel?" _

This is Dr. _[sic] _Pappa's all-purpose question. It seems kind and innocuous on the surface, but it's a trap. I know that whatever I say next, Dr. Pappa's going to purse her lips, think a while, and then tell me why my feelings are wrong in the current situation. For example, I recently told her I didn't want to volunteer for the Hunger Games because they made me feel frightened and disgusted. Dr. Pappa nodded attentively, as all good social workers do whether or not they're actually paying attention, and then proceeded to tell me that I needed to "reframe" my attitude. "This could be a magnificent stepping stone for you," she said, "and if you win, you'll have proven to yourself that you don't need Morphling or any other addictive substance." _Huh? _Has she forgotten that my drug of choice is often administered to tributes after all the killing is over? What's worse, how and why does anyone need to "reframe" their fright and disgust about the Games? I'm going to be _dead _if I lose. What good will Dr. Pappa's advice do me then, no matter if she has a Ph.D.?

"_What does that mean to you?" _

What, the Hunger Games? They're merely bloodsport, despite what our Mayor and District Escort say. All that jazz about "fostering District loyalty" and "making amends for our past rebellion" is just cheap talk. Sure, Katniss Everdeen and her pack of dead-fool followers may have believed in a better day, a different way of life, but there were too many people in power with too much to lose for it to happen. What do the Games mean to me? My death, or else my survival and living in the gilded cage called the Victors' Village! Dr. Pappa once asked me this question in relation to Morphling, and I simply said: "Utter relief from pain."

"_You need to become a P.R. person - PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY!" _

From Day One, I've admitted why and how I use Morphling, and it's not only for my physical agony. People spit on you if you don't deliver their luggage quickly enough, or cleanly enough in some cases. They don't give you tips, only orders. I'm responsible, all right - responsible for escaping the hell that is my life!


	8. DISTRICT 7 STYLISTS & CHARIOTS

_**DISTRICT SEVEN: LUMBER: STYLISTS AND CHARIOTS**_

_**~ POV: Lance Umber, Age 18, District 7 Male Tribute ~**_

"_DON'T MAKE ME A LUMBERJACK!" _

My stylist for the Hunger Games, Septimus, winks in the mirror as he cuts my hair. He's only a couple of years older than I am, but I think of him as a rival. Is he in the Hunger Games? No, but he's almost as handsome as me. Good thing he's more than a little on the limp-wristed side, or I'd have to fight him. "I wouldn't dream of it, my dear lad!" he quips. See? He even talks like a girl, and I hate guys like him. Be a _man, _Septimus, and I don't only mean "cut your hair"! Where I come from, those of your kind get tied to trees, beaten, and left to die in the woods. _Good riddance to bad rubbish, _I say. _You Capitol leeches are sneaky, especially when you "swing" the way you do. How many lovers have you had, you parasite? _He lets me know his plan for me, which I don't understand one bit. "I'm going to turn you into mighty Apollo."

I quirk an angry eyebrow: "Who's that?"

"A Greek god, and lord of the sun! He also wears a laurel wreath, which will rest perfectly on your head because you're from the Lumber District." Septimus pauses. "Apollo is typically depicted naked in art and sculpture, but I'm afraid that too many of our lovely Capitol ladies won't be able to stop staring at you. We can't have that, especially if they're married, so you'll have underwear with fresh leaves all over it. Won't that be nice?" I want to stab his furiously-snapping scissors into his pale little throat. _Who does he think he is?! _Come to think of it, I wouldn't mind being nude on the chariot if that's the expected outcome. More than a few female tributes have their eyes on me, including Daisy, the one who thinks she might be pregnant. Wouldn't it be great to have her anyway, and make her loser boyfriend seethe with rage? None of them can resist me, except the cripple, whom I don't want. Besides, she's the fisherman's conquest.

"What'cha thinkin, Lincoln?"

"Huh?" _Who's Lincoln, anyway? I hear that used to be a type of car in pre-Panem days, but oh, well._

"What's that look on your face? Are my skills not satisfactory enough? I want you to look your finest."

"Oh, no. You're doing great." _Scumbag. _"Do you know what my partner's going to be dressed as?"

"Caledonia wants to do her up as Daphne, the desire of Apollo's heart, but she's only fourteen, so…"

"So?" He's right. The little girl who was drawn in the Reaping has no figure to speak of, only that of a:

"Tree." Septimus rolls his eyes, which are caked with multicolored shadow. "That's the only option."

"How creative." I give a snort, and then a gasp as the person I hate most in the world curses. _"What?!" _

"Sorry I cut your ear! I'm _so, _so, so, sorry, and - _gah! _Your hair! I'm afraid that I'm going to have to - to -"

"Spit it out." I turn my head, and discover that my stylist has cut a huge chunk of hair from my right temple. I'm so stunned that I can't even speak, and my reflection in the mirror gapes stupidly back at me.

"If you wear a lumberjack's cap, no one will be able to see the mistake I made. I am so _terribly_ sorry!"

I want to kill him. Now I wish he was in the Hunger Games, so I _could_ kill him. "How old are you?"

"Twenty." He's shaking like a leaf, although Septimus' expression is unreadable. Is he happy or afraid?

"Two words of advice: Find a new line of work, and find a _girlfriend, _you she-male." With that, I snap my fingers and a new stylist comes running. My former one is all too glad to wash his manicured hands of me!

_**~ POV: Taylor Birchwood, Age 14, District 7 Female Tribute ~**_

_A TREE RIDING A CHARIOT?!_

Seriously - that's all my stylist, Caledonia, could come up with for my costume? How did she ever get her job? Sure, she's gorgeous, but so are all the other women who live at the Capitol! I wish I were Peri Sartor from District One, with actual gem-quality peridots adhesively placed _all over her body. _Except for a minuscule string bikini of the same color, she's naked, just as my horrible partner Lance was going to be. Rumor has it his stylist cut a big chunk of hair off his head, though, so now he's a boring lumberjack. Why couldn't I be from District Five, my entire frame wrapped with thousands of brilliant white lights, or even from District Eight? The girl behind me, curse her soul, is wearing the most gorgeous dress _ever! _I'm so jealous I could weep, but trees don't do that. They simply stand still, like I have to do all day back home.

I'm one of the unfortunate souls on the Lumber Preparation Crew, consisting of all the girls (and some of the boys) who aren't strong or agile enough to chop down trees. For twelve hours a day at least, I apply toxic chemicals such as creosote to the wood that's going to be used in houses and furniture. I wear a mask over my nose and mouth, of course, but it still doesn't help all that much. We crewmembers are affected (read: high) even thirty minutes after we start each day of work, and that's why we have to take a vital white pill called Antinhale each hour. If we don't, we pass out, and none of us want that. Usually, fainting would be recognized as a sign of illness, and you'd be taken off of work detail to rest. On the crew, however, "taking a blackout break" is a severely punishable offense. It's meant to be entirely preventable.

Of course, it's not. I'm already feeling the withdrawal symptoms as I'm on the chariot, trying not to wobble. Antinhale has side effects if you don't take it, just like any other pharmaceutical drug does, and one of them is drowsiness. See, in order for us not to become euphoric or hallucinate because of the wood- chemical fumes, Antinhale counteracts these problems through intense stimulation of the nervous system. We can't faint if our pulses are racing, or at least have been brought up to normal speed. If creosote and such make us woozy, Antinhale makes us hyperactive. This is good, because it makes us work faster. Some do-gooders in other Districts, meaning the wealthier ones, are worried about what chemicals such as these do to our brains, and what benefit we're really getting through taking Antinhale. They don't get it. If we work fast, we get paid more, and if we don't, we either get paid far less or beaten. When you have time and money, you have the luxury of trying to figure such stuff out and "make a difference". We don't.

I can hear the crowd cheering, but my ears feel like they've been stuffed with cotton. My arms are stiff from my holding them out like the branches of a tree. I've been covered from head to toe with a special biodegradable paint that not only dries, but wrinkleson you. Since my last name is Birchwood, the paint is as white as its bark, but my body has been turned into something hideous because of it. All through my chestnut hair, woven as well as glued, are fresh golden birch leaves from our forests this season. They itch, and it reminds me of just how much I hate trees. I know they give us air to breathe, and lumber with which to build our homes, but _my _barracks is made of brick that's at least 100 years old - half-broken leftovers from District Two. District Seven is one of the main ones that receives others' hand-me-downs.

_Charity: the gift nobody wants. Is the Capitol crowd only cheering for me and Lance out of charity, too?_

They're all clapping and stomping, delirious with the thrill of watching our chariots parade down the main thoroughfare. Why is it that every year, the high-and-mighty forget why we're on these contraptions from ancient days? Twenty-three of us are going to die, so why all the spectacle? The Hunger Games might only be entertaining in the sense of the single word I heard the boy tribute from District Eleven say: _schadenfreude. _It's pronounced _SHAH-den-froid-uh, _but what does it mean? I've tried to ask some of the other tributes, especially the ones who seem smart, like Orion from District Five. However, he looked at me with his blank eyes and simply sighed. He went off to do something else and ignored me. What a brat! I was just asking a simple question, but when I tried to find the boy from Eleven again, he'd disappeared.

"_Once again, here come Lance Umber and Taylor Birchwood, from the verdant Lumber District: Seven!" _

The crowd erupts into fresh cheers. I let a few birch leaves cascade from my hair and onto the ground.


	9. DISTRICT 8 STYLISTS & CHARIOTS

_**DISTRICT EIGHT: TEXTILES: STYLISTS AND CHARIOTS**_

_**~ POV: Jefferson "Jeff" Parker, Age 16, District 8 Male Tribute ~**_

"_BOXERS' TRUNKS AND GLOVES, OKAY?" _

Octavian, my tall, scrawny stylist with green-spiked hair, looks incredulous: "Are you kidding me, tribute?"

"Why would I be?"

"Because you live in the Textile District, and you'll wear a Peacekeeper uniform you most likely made."

I smirk. "As the ancients used to say, 'Don't judge a book by its cover!' I don't do any of that drudgery."

"Are you a guard, then?" Octavian can't understand why my eyes are still a-twinkle. "You're quite burly."

"My preferred costume for the chariot ride should have given you a clue. I'm a boxer, and proud of it!"

The stylist looks amazed, and then understandably suspicious: "Isn't that occupation illegal, young man?"

"Sure it is, but you can't expect the rich people in District Eight not to have something to gamble on, right?" He stammers for a moment, but his incessant motor mouth seems to have ground to a halt. When he manages to give me a low and impressed whistle, I finally look him in the eye. "I know full well that you could report me, but since I might die in the upcoming Hunger Games, what would be the good of that? I also know you're dying to know how I got out of the uniform factories and into the ring. Am I right, or not?"

"Tell me your story," Octavian spits out, "and I'll keep quiet about your not doing what you're supposed to."

"Deal." I hold a finger to my lips. "It started when I was born, at a whopping eleven pounds, two ounces…" Mom and Dad couldn't believe it. Their firstborn son was absolutely enormous, and what was worse, his strength was eventually going to be wasted via sewing! In our stinking and bleak little corner of Panem, you're either a factory worker, a laundry worker, a teacher, or a factory guard. A very few of us are designers and embroiderers, like my District partner Aoife used to be. However, they're getting fewer every day as more Peacekeepers are hired. My parents both decided that I would never spend the rest of my days hunched over a machine, but what _was_ I going to do? They didn't want me to be a guard, either.

"Annie," said Dad as soon as I could walk. "I know what I used to do, and I want to teach Jeff my trade."

"Oh, no, you don't!" she'd screamed, or so Dad told me. "You almost got arrested, and I won't have it!"

"Remember how I didn't, though? The local Peacekeepers all remember me, because I fought well. That's why our family doesn't get into any real trouble around here, even if we slack off at work. I'm a legend."

"What if our son isn't?" My mother shuddered. "Lots of boys go into the ring and never come out, John."

"He will." With that, my fate was sealed. "Look at him. He'll be even better than me at prizefighting!" Mom and Dad let me go to school, of course, but afterward I was to come straight home, ducking through back alleys reeking of slops if I needed to. I wasn't to go near the factories after that, as the rest of my classmates did, but to the Beer and Baton - a Peacekeepers' tavern. In wealthier Districts like One and Two, the Capitol's goons in white frequent more "respectable" places such as gentleman's clubs, but not here. In District Eight, they prefer far bloodier sport than seduction and ogling, and they like to bet a lot. Boxing is their drug of choice, as well as powerful stimulants, so I began my training regimen at four. Now that I'm sixteen, I have countless victories under my belt - all thanks to Dad, who worked me like the strongest quarter horse in any stable! When I tell Octavian this, he nods slowly, because he can believe it.

"Whom are you going to kill first?" he asks me in a whisper. I have only one name in mind: _Mars Cutullo. _

_**~ POV: Aoife McCallan, Age 18, District 8 Female Tribute ~**_

"_EE-FA! EE-FA! EE-FA! EE-FA! EE-FA!" _

I luxuriate in the radiance of the Capitol crowd's adoration, as they chant my name over and over. Also spelled _Aìfe, _it means "beauty" in Gaelic. My own beauty comes not from my face, hair or body, worn down by years of factory work. Rather, it lies in the gown that my Capitol stylist, Volumnia, has designed for me. It consists of twenty-six long fabric stripes, one for every letter of the English alphabet, all in twenty-six colors. To wit, they are: apricot acetate, burgundy brocade, cobalt cashmere, dandelion duvetyn, emerald elastane, fuchsia flannel, gold gauze (VERY delicate), harlequin herringbone, ivory iridescent taffeta, jade jacquard, khaki karakul, lavender lamè, maroon muslin, navy nylon, orchid organza, pear polyester, quartz quiviut, russet rayon, salmon satin, taupe twill, umber underwear (Hee! I know that's not a fabric in and of itself, but I'm wearing it anyway), violet velvet, white wool, xanthic Xenotheron (a synthetic, stretchy silk), yarrow Yelt (a rayon/felt hybrid) and zucchini zibeline. Whew - that's quite a mouthful (and a dress full)!

Beneath this gown, however, I'm as thin and sparse as a reed. The one doctor that I've been to since I started becoming a woman revealed that I have a highly-premature bone disease called _osteoporosis…? _Who has ever heard of that? Illnesses are supposed to be cured here in Panem, but we can't afford such things. All the money we earn goes to paying for food, clothing, shelter, and "protection." In case you live in a different District than Eight, which I hope to heaven you do, _this_ kind of protection barely keeps us safe. It not only refers to the pills we factory girls take to keep ourselves from getting pregnant and having babies we can't support, but also to the bribes we pay so the foremen and Peacekeepers won't touch us! As long as we give them a cut of our meager salaries, we'll be all right - well, unless you're frail like me. Men like those with pretty hands as well as pretty faces, though both of mine are almost always dirty. I used to be an embroiderer, one of only ten girls who got to make dresses for ladies at the Capitol, but…

"_Aoife." _I can still hear his rough voice in my head, even above that of the crowd, calling me _"OW-eef." _

"What do you want?" I knew very well what he desired, despite who he was. No factory lad was this gent.

"The other nine have seen me. Why haven't you? Those fancy fingers of yours could be put to better use." You had better do so, and quickly, or that position of yours goes to your nearest rival: Emily Ming."

"Let her have it! I won't be one of your whores!"

He grinned, exposing ill-fitting dentures. He's one of the few in Eight who has enough money for them, even if they're too big for his mouth. "Oh, no, you little Irish beauty. I'm not letting you get away that easily."

I spat at his feet. "Why not? There are plenty of girls lovelier than I, with long hair and all of their teeth!"

"Yes, but you're _special. _The fire in your eyes is not yet gone, and all the pallid zombies on the floor, no matter the size of their breasts and buttocks, aren't like you. You're beautiful to me, Miss Aoife McCallan."

"Go away!" I practically screamed, but he grabbed me, wrenched his fingers through my hair, and pulled.

"There's a new machine in Factory Thirty," he hissed, "that's so fast you won't be able to handle it. If you won't have me, I'm going to send you there and put you on it. I guarantee you'll lose a finger the first day."

I could do nothing but weep, and the next thing I knew, I was on a rickety subway to my District's hell.

"_EE-FA! EE-FA! EE-FA! EE-FA! EE-FA!" _

Very slowly and gingerly, I pull the third fingers of my white satin gloves (that counterbalance my gown) together so that they touch. Then I tie them in a love knot and hold them high before the chanting crowd. When I turn my hands over, pulling and pulling without feeling an ounce of pain, they know the ugly truth: I've lost both of these fingers, and have nowhere to put a traditional wedding band. They gasp. _Let them!_


	10. DISTRICT 9 INTERVIEWS

_**DISTRICT NINE: GRAIN: INTERVIEWS**_

_**~ POV: Noah Goddard, Age 17, District 9 Male Tribute ~**_

_STUPID CAESAR FLICKERMAN DOESN'T UNDERSTAND…_

"_**Heyyy, my man! I hear you and the District Nine female tribute come from the same crazy family!" **_

"Yep. That's because she's my sister." Laughs from the crowd, and flashes from their numerous cameras.

"_**How many of you are there, and why in our glorious nation ARE there so many of you?!" **_

"Calm down," I tell him, and then quote my most favorite Bible verse, Psalm 127:5. _"Happy is the man who hath his quiver full of them: they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate." _

After a long pause, Caesar Flickerman turns to me and cries, _**"What in Panem does that mean?" **_

"It means that the man who has lots of children is very happy, as my father is because he has us. As for how many, there are only fourteen of us, of whom I am the fourth. However, Mama will change that soon."

"_**Good gracious!" **_He stares at the crowd, who remains silent. _**"How many are you planning to have?" **_

"There is no 'planning' in it, sir. Our family will have as many members as the Lord Himself allows."

After shaking his head, the host of all the tribute interviews clears his throat and asks, _**"So, why did you volunteer for the Hunger Games, along with your sister? District Nine isn't exactly known for…" **_

"Victors?" Flickerman's mouth falls open. "I know, but Faith and I are aiming to change that this year."

"_**That's the spirit!" **_Something in his narrow eyes, however, tells me that he doesn't quite believe what he just said. _**"Still, with so many siblings at home - wait. Tell me everyone's names, one at a time." **_

"I know you won't believe this, but my father's name is Joseph, and my mother's name is Mary." _Silence. _I can guess what Caesar's thinking: _What's so special about that? _I continue on, reciting the names of my brothers and sisters: "On the boys' side, in order, there are John, Abraham, me, Peter, Paul, Judah and David. The girls, from oldest to youngest, are Sarah, Deborah, Rachel, Faith, Esther, Ruth, and Naomi." After I finish, the crowd applauds politely as photographs of each of them are shown on the two giant screens on either side of us. "Faith and I are planning on coming back and rejoining our family, of course."

"_**I know you want to win," **_Flickerman says slowly, as if speaking to a toddler, _**"but why this badly?" **_

"Do you have any idea how much it takes to feed all of us?" More encouraging laughter from the crowd. "I don't only mean in terms of edible food, but in clothing and other resources as well." Taking a deep breath, I decide to speak what's on my mind, even though it might get me in trouble with Capitol sponsors: "In our District, though it might be 'Panem's bread bowl', we're not allowed to eat much of the grain we cultivate. People like me do all the sowing, planting, and harvesting, but most of it goes to…other districts." _Careful. _"If either Faith or I come back as a victor, that means resources for our struggling family. With a fifteenth sibling on the way, we need this, and we're putting our trust in God that He will provide for us." I hear some people in the throng laugh again, but they're trying to hide it. This time, their giggles aren't encouraging.

Has Caesar ever paused this much in any of his previous interviews? _**"Is God going to help you win?" **_

"Why not? We all put our trust in Him and live our lives according to His Holy Word, the Bible. To get the rest of the story about why our family lives the way it does, talk to my sister, because we're out of time."

"_**Indeed we are!" **_crows Flickerman, looking relieved. _**"Let's bring Faith Goddard out here, shall we?"**_

_**~ POV: Faith Goddard, Age 16, District 9 Female Tribute ~**_

_I SHALL EMBODY GOD'S JUSTICE…_

"_**Tell me, Faith," **_says the ever-annoying Caesar Flickerman, _**"did your brother reveal everything?"**_

"No. That's why I'm here." I beam at the cameras, exposing perfectly-white teeth despite the poverty our family endures. They're dentures, newly given to me for the purpose of looking good before these same cameras. As much as I hate being here and prostituting myself before the crowd, I'm not complaining! "I can explain more fully about our faith, and why our family has so many children. The truth is that God Almighty needs warriors - righteous people who are willing to fight and die in His name, and for His glory."

"_**Care to elaborate?" **_I grin inwardly. Poor Flickerman doesn't know this is the perfect question for me.

"Of course. In this world and in Panem, there are so many who don't follow the ways of our Lord. They lie, steal, cheat, and murder. They commit adultery, and lose their honor before marriage. Even Caissa Scheveningen, that innocent-looking crippled tribute from District Five, has done so with Mikhail Rybakov, from District Four!" Gasps from the crowd. "It's true, and I even heard Mikhail tell her that not long before the Reapings, he had been responsible for the death of his uncle Ivan!" More gasps. "It's all true, and my brother and I hope to resolve these problems in the arena. With the help of our Heavenly Father, we will."

"_**Do you mean to tell me that you're going after these tributes first and foremost, to kill them?" **_I nod. _**"Are there any in the arena who will be spared your wrath, and who have done no wrong?" **_

"No." I hold up a hand as more people start jeering than cheering. "What I mean is that I depend upon the forgiveness of Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior, to cleanse me from my sins. So does my brother. Of course I'm a sinner, and have been so from birth, but through His blood I have been pardoned. We have not met any of our fellow tributes who profess Christ, so that means they are lost, slated for damnation! In the Hunger Games, he and I are going to have to slay other tributes, but the arena's law is _kill or be killed. _Even though God's law explicitly states, '_Thou shalt not kill,' _there are certain times when it's permissible, such as during war or in genuine self-defense. If any one of these other tributes fight and try to kill me, I shall fight back. However, I also have a duty to bring God's punishment down on flagrant transgressors, such as the people I just mentioned. Caissa Scheveningen is a whore, and Mikhail Rybakov a murderer." More boos. "Why are you all punishing me for telling the truth? I guess you prefer lies and deceit, yes?"

"_**Let's move on to another subject!" **_Caesar stammers, pronouncing all these words as a single one. _**"Why are you wearing that silly white kerchief on your head? It doesn't match your gown at all."**_

"It's a head covering. I wear it to show my submission to God's authority, and to that of godly men. Before you ask, that includes my brother and my father. We women obey the best we can in humility and love."

"_**But why obey at all? Why not be like Aoife, the female tribute from District Eight, or Peri Sartor?" **_

"God created men and women as completely different, but equal, creatures in His sight. He created men to lead, provide and protect, and women to serve, submit and obey. This does not mean that women are inferior to men, however. They alone have been given the miracle of life to perform, because they alone can bear children. What young women like Aoife and Peri don't understand is their unique purpose - why our Heavenly Father created them! They don't realize the incredible gift they have been given, or else they would have found Christian husbands by now and brought new life into this world. The Hunger Games is a bloodbath, it's true, but out of such great evil can come great good. From death can come resurrection."

Flickerman blinks. _**"Do all Christians believe as you do?" **_His eyes are as large as satellite dishes.

"No, but the ones who call themselves that and don't believe as we do aren't real Christians. At least, they are not following Biblical principles as they should. To all of you who believe in Christ truly, and make no apologies about it, pray for me and for Noah. May either one of us win the Hunger Games in His name!"


	11. DISTRICT 10 INTERVIEWS

_**DISTRICT TEN: LIVESTOCK: INTERVIEWS**_

_**~ POV: Teddy Stearns, Age 12, District 10 Male Tribute ~**_

_HOW MUCH SHOULD I REVEAL?_

"_**So, Teddy," **_Caesar Flickerman says, _**"I hear you're an INSANELY talented tribute!" **_Silence follows. Either no one in the throng before us gets the joke (yet), or they're not laughing anyway. _**"Is it true?" **_

"I am on release from District Ten's Carrington Mental Health Center to take part in the Hunger Games."

Flickerman's eyes get big. _**"So, does that mean you volunteered freely, or -" **_

"Yes." More eerie silence. "I figure it's better to go out in a blaze of glory than to waste away in that place. Of course, I had to get permission from my psychiatrist, psychologist, recreational therapist, dietitian, fitness coordinator, sleep-apnea specialist, day room monitor, and Dr. Carrington to do so, but I did."

He blinks. _**"Are you aware of who your District partner is?" **_

"_Of WHOM, _Mr. Flickerman, and yes. How could I forget Melissa Carrington, who volunteered with me?"

"_**Are you actually serious, Teddy? I thought it was just a coincidence that her last name was -" **_

"The same one as that of the founder of my glorious prison? I assure you, it is no matter of pure chance."

"_**How does he feel about his daughter being in the arena with a clinically-insane mental patient?" **_

"I honestly have no idea. You'll have to ask him, or better yet, her. Only Melissa knows her own mind."

Caesar clears his throat. _**"Tell me: what about your parents? They wouldn't have let you volunteer!"**_

"Again, I wouldn't know. Doctors took me away when I was one and showing 'acute mental abnormalities.'

"_**Such as?" **_I can see people peeking out from behind the curtain and shushing him, but he won't quit.

"For one thing, I remember a mobile of tiny stuffed animals. I could move it with my mind, and turn the bear toward me every time. I fixated on it, held it for a while, and turned to the cat, my second-favorite."

"_**Is there anything else you 'remember' from when you were that young?" **_He clearly doubts me.

"The North Star. Mama showed me the Little Dipper every night back then, and I could spot it easily."

This time the crowd starts laughing. _**"Let's talk about something else, shall we, Teddy? What do you think of your fellow tributes? Brandon Shimkus, from Six, said you have a 'sob story' to tell." **_

"Maybe so, but I've already told it." I raise an eyebrow. "What about you? What do _you_ think of me?"

"_**I'm not supposed to pick favorites!" **_Flickerman chuckles, a nervous _hihh-hihh-hihh, _his blinding grin a mile wide. _**"What about Orion Watts, the boy your age who supposedly can never be distracted?" **_

"Now there's a tragedy. Scientists robbed him of every sense but touch, and _I'M _the insane one?" The throng erupts again, although this time with nervous giggles. "Anything to win the Hunger Games? _Bah!" _

"_**But, Teddy," **_Flickerman counters, forming his fingers into a tense pyramid, _**"aren't you going to win?" **_

I once more consider how much I should reveal, and then answer, softly and pointedly: "No."

_**~ POV: Melissa Carrington, Age 18, District 10 Female Tribute ~**_

_HOW MUCH DOES TEDDY KNOW?_

"_**Hello, Melissa Carrington!" **_our illustrious host says brightly. _**"You're looking lovely tonight!" **_

"Thank you." I pause briefly. "Before you ask, I'm here to watch over Teddy, but I think I stand a chance."

"_**Have you asked him?" **_Caesar's eyes twinkle, and a drummer to the left plays a rimshot. _Ba-dump-chh! _

"Yeah, but he won't tell me. The only thing I can pry out of Teddy is that I won't die first." No rimshot here.

"_**So, why'd you volunteer for the Hunger Games? I know that the glory of being a victor is a feat all our young people strive for in Panem, but you look like you've got your whole life ahead of you." **_

"As I said, Teddy needs someone to watch over him, and besides, my father has fallen out of favor with some very powerful people - namely, representatives and P.R. gurus from the SaniMind corporation. They run a chain of mental health centers and hospitals all throughout Panem, and they've recently bought Father's hospital. They want to make some big changes, but they're not what's best for the patients."

Flickerman looks like he's concentrating hard, but then he lays his head on his left hand and lets out an exaggerated snore. _**"Boring! Let's talk about you. All that jazz still doesn't tell me very much about why you're willing to risk your life for a kid who's clearly off his rocker. What's the whole story?" **_

"The whole story is that I want to become a developmental psychologist, and try to undo some of the damage that our current mental-and-behavioral-health system has done to children like Teddy. They took him away at only a year old due to some suspicions they had about his mental abilities, and that's cruel! In order to achieve my dream, however, I'll have to go to college, and that takes money I don't have - even with my father and his connections. He may be a bona-fide doctor, but we're not rich - not by a long shot."

"_**Why don't you shovel some manure in the cattle barns to make up the difference, eh, Melissa?" **_

"Are you kidding me?" The crowd explodes with merriment, whooping and hollering. "If I did that in order to try and pay for college, it would take me more than a century - perhaps two or three centuries - to earn enough! I specialize in tutoring, and that's how I met Teddy. Despite what everyone thinks, that psychiatric patients are no good and can't learn anything that would benefit society, this isn't true. Teddy, for instance, is a brilliant writer. He remembers everything he reads, hears and sees. We even suspect that - " _I've said too much. Now they're going to want to know what my father's subordinates really did to him, or tried to…_

"_**You were saying?" **_I sit stock-still. _**"Electroshock therapy?" **_Silence. _**"Do you have a boyfriend?" **_

"Of course not! Do you think I have _time_ for that?" More whooping and hollering. "In order to become what I want to, I have to study day and night. Tutoring, oddly enough, helps me do that. A lot of the information I help to teach the pediatric patients is fairly simplistic, but not with my District partner. As for a boyfriend, I do _like_ boys, but I'm just so busy that I'll never go out with any of them or get married." Subtle titters from the women in the crowd. "At least in our District, if you're a girl with ambition, you're seen as a total freak."

Caesar Flickerman doesn't quite know what to say, except that he agrees: _**"Well! That's nice!" **_Realizing his faux pas, he then changes the subject one more time: _**"So, how are you going to win the Games?" **_

"By a combination of luck, skill, and sticking with Teddy. I'm not going to let anybody kill him before I die."

"_**Isn't he, or won't he be, a liability? I mean, clearly, Melissa, he's not the most reliable partner -" **_

"In what way?" Caesar cringes. "He's never hurt me before, or anybody else. The only reason why he's spent his life in the confines of my father's hospital is that he's not _normal_ by everyone else's standards…"


	12. DISTRICT 11 TRAINING

_**DISTRICT ELEVEN: AGRICULTURE: TRAINING**_

_**~ POV: Gordon "Ghost" Rivers, Age 15, District 11 Male Tribute ~**_

_MY NICKNAME AIN'T FOR NOTHING. _

I'm called "Ghost" because no one can find me if I don't want to be found, or catch me if I don't want to be caught. One minute I'm there; the next, I'm not. That's the way it is, and has to be if I'm to provide for my family in the way a young man should. I may only be fifteen, but I'm agile and limber enough to outwit brutes three times my size - like Carter, from District Two. I'm also small for my age, which is why I only look like I'm eleven or twelve. No one picks on me, though, because I'm never around to hear their insults.

"_GORDON RIVERS!" _one of our Trainers at the Capitol yells. _"WHERE ARE YOU, YOU MAGGOT?!"_

I've climbed a very tall makeshift tree on one of our numerous obstacle courses. From there, I've worked my way up into the rafters, and I'm on my belly, clinging to one like an insect. I know that I have to be very careful - not only not to fall, but not to let this particular Trainer spot me. His name is Flavius, whom I call "Flavorless", because he's got absolutely no personality. He's like a bullhorn, and keeps calling me and my District partner a racial slur that rhymes with "digger". Do I hold that against him? You bet I do, even though Jeff Parker, the boxer from District Eight, tells me I should have more class and ignore him. That's all well and good when you're strong like him, but when you're not, you find revenge is best served cold.

"_Well," _Flavorless snarls, _"since our favorite phantom won't show up for calisthenics, how about the rest of you do them for him? Drop and give me fifty - no, one hundred! Two hundred, and that's final; hear me?" _My fellow tributes fall to work, but I remain clinging to the rafters. I'm waiting for an opportunity. Very soon, our hallowed Trainer is going to cross the line, and there'll be no turning back. I don't have the means or wish to kill him, because that's a surefire death sentence. What I want to do is humiliate him. I've known plenty of men like Flavorless back in my home district, Eleven, known for agriculture. They can shrug off a blow to the body, but a blow to their pride cuts them deep. As much as I feel sorry for the twenty-three guys and gals on the floor, pumping their bodies up and down for all they're worth, I feel even sorrier for him. He'll never be able to recover after what I'll do. Pulling his pants down won't be near enough at all!

"_Scheveningen," _he sneers, meaning the weakest of our lot - the handicapped girl from Five. _"Come. I see you're not very good at these, whereas all of your fellow tributes are, so let's put you out of your misery. We are going to spar, and if you lose, I'll rig your collar to explode as soon as your sixty seconds are up…" _From my vantage point, I see the haunted guy from District Four, who's Russian, rush to attack him. Flavius grabs his _neck_ and _lifts him into the air, _for crying out loud! The Russian's a beefy fisherman, too. _"What do you think you're doing, Rybakov?" _Flavius spits in his face. _"Trying to save your little girlfriend?" _He drops the Russian like a big sack of rocks, picks up a fake sword, and snaps, _"Caissa! Here! Now!" _

She drags herself to her feet, already halfway exhausted, and asks: "With what am I supposed to fight?"

"_If you can't beat me with your bare hands, you're nothing." _Ever-so-slowly, I start crawling in the rafters.

The fight, if you can call it that, begins. The tributes cheer their own, of course, no matter how hapless, but I know Caissa won't last. Flavorless just takes swing after swing at her with his long rubber sword, and his blows hit hard. It's all she can do to block the worst of the, and she staggers back - her only defense. However, unbeknownst to her, she's got another ally on her side besides the reeling Russian. I position myself directly over my opponent, because once I get going, I crawl faster than anyone I've ever met. At just the right time, I let out a whispered prayer, let go of the rafters, and plunge nearly to my death! Luckily for me, old Flavorless breaks my fall. He tumbles to the ground, and Caissa runs away as fast as she can.

As soon as our captive audience sees what I've done, they jump and chant, _"GHOST! GHOST! GHOST!" _

"_That counts for a flogging," _Flavius growls once he stands up again. _"You've shattered my right wrist." _

_**~ POV: Haley Orchardson, Age 13, District 11 Female Tribute ~**_

_I'M GOOD AT MAKING ALLIANCES. _

"If you can't beat 'em, join 'em," I always say, and that's why I've grouped with three other younger girls. Here at the Training Center, Eevee, Taylor Birchwood, Seraphina Lazuli and I are sharing the same lunch table. It's strange: I would have thought that "Special" would have acted all snotty and stuck-up towards us, but she _loves_ a crowd - especially a crowd of girls who are just the right age to be her audience! When she's not giving us fashion and makeup tips (not that we'll need those in the Hunger Games!), she's talking strategy or trash about the other tributes. I get the funny feeling that Taylor and Eevee would rather kick her out of our group than include her, but I want to give her a chance. After all, it isn't every day that any of us girls from the poorer Districts get to hang out with the most popular pre-teen star in Panem…

"Seriously," Special says, "I think this is a spectacular idea. If we all team up, we'll get sponsors galore! I'm going to make the rest of you famous along with me. Don't you see? If we stick together, everyone will love us! Remember Katniss Everdeen and Rue, from the 74th Hunger Games? Audiences loved their little alliance, until Rue got killed." She suddenly sniffs, perturbed. "Katniss got what she deserved, though." The three of us squirm, and our anxious expressions betray the truth: _Katniss was our hero. We really thought she, Peeta Mellark, and all the rebels had a chance of taking down the Capitol, but…_ "What?!" We smile instantly and return our attention to Special. "As I was saying, we'll be the talk of all Panem once we join forces. No tributes will want to kill us, and they won't be able to unless they take on all four of us."

"But we're little." Eevee looks especially worried. "How could we ever beat huge guys like Misha and Mars, and tall girls like Aoife and Daisy? "Even if we are the four Girl-keteers, how will we stand up to them?"

"That's the stupidest nickname I've ever heard, Eevee, and besides, there's strength in numbers! If we need to, we'll climb on the big, stinky boys like a pack of monkeys until they back off. Then we kill 'em."

"Boys aren't stinky!" Taylor protests. Apparently, she's hit puberty faster than any of the other three of us, and apparently she's missed how creepy it is when Special talks about killing people. "Boys are cool!"

"Oh, yeah? Have you smelled how much they _sweat?!" _Special pinches her nose shut. "Lance most of all. The only boys that are awesome, Taylor Birchwood, are the ones _not _trying to slaughter us in the arena."

"Okay, point taken," Taylor grumbles, and then whispers in my ear: "I still like Carter, though. He's cute." The two of us give a sly mutual nod as Taylor humbly signals for an Avox girl to bring her more spaghetti and meatballs. In case you haven't noticed, we're trying to load up on carbs and protein before we fight. I take a heaping second helping, too, and Eevee opts for more milk. Special? Her mouth keeps flapping:

"All right. The first tributes that I think we should take out are Orion Watts, from District Five, and Emma Portnoy from Six. Emma will probably be having the shakes because she can't get her latest Morphling fix, and as for Orion? How hard could it possibly be to kill someone who can't see, hear, smell, or taste?"

"I don't know," says Eevee. "The scientists in his District must have done that to him for a good reason…"

"Yeah: they're idiots! Come on. He probably just pissed off one too many Peacekeepers, so they figured they'd silence him for good. Of course, they went a little overboard, but - _hey! _What are you doing here?!" The girl tribute from District Twelve, who is also in our age range, has spotted the extra chair at our table. _"Get lost,_ Olivia. This is our private lunch area, and we four are having a private discussion here, okay?"

"I'm sorry!" Olivia stammers. "It's just that my District partner is talking tactics with the big guys, and -"

"Have a seat." Without even thinking, I pull out the seat so that Olivia can take it. "Welcome, welcome!" _What have I done? Special is giving me a death glare, and I may have just ruined my one alliance! _"I think that we should name our group the Phoenixes, because we will rise from the ashes of the arena alive…" With that, the five of us take a vote. There's no way any of the others can defeat us if we remain strong!


	13. DISTRICT 12 TRAINING

_**DISTRICT TWELVE: COAL MINING: TRAINING**_

_**~ POV: Isaac "Ike" Ouroboros, Age 16, District 12 Male Tribute ~**_

_I'VE CAUGHT THE CAREERS' ATTENTION…_

"Hey!" Mars Cutullo calls me a name otherwise reserved for a female cat. "What's with your name?"

"You mean my first name, or my last one?"

"Both, you dirt-mining piece of coal!" He doesn't exactly say _coal, _however. "Are you a dirty Jew? Huh?"

"Leave him alone, Martian," Peridot Sartor sighs. "He's from District Twelve, and not worth our time."

"No, I want to hear this," the olive-skinned space alien retorts, giving her a shove. "Are you, or aren't you?"

"Yes, I am Jewish by descent, though my family doesn't practice anymore, and hasn't for a long time now. They still gave me a traditional name, though. Isaac is Abraham's son, the father of Jacob, or Israel. As for my last name? It's Greek. In your eyes, that makes me doubly weird, although I suggest you not mess with me." In response to Mars' previous profanity, I don't exactly say the word _mess, _either. "Here's why." I roll up the right sleeve of my maroon-and-black training uniform, exposing a dark blue tattoo. "My handiwork."

"You did it to _yourself?" _Daisy Sayre, the honorary female Career from District Four, gapes. "What is it?"

"A symbol of my last name. It's an _Ouroboros, _meaning a snake eating its own tail. It symbolizes eternal cycles - much like the Hunger Games, it seems, at least until Katniss and the rebels tried to break it."

Carter Gneiss, from District Two, snorts. "Shows how much they knew, didn't it? It appears to me that you can never stop that reptile from devouring itself, no matter how hard you try, and it's the same thing with our annual foray into the arena. That makes you smarter than all of them, even though you're a miner."

"Should I take that as a compliment or an insult?" I smirk. "I'll think it's the former, thank you very much."

"Listen," interrupts Peri, rolling her eyes. "I doubt Carter wanted to praise you, but we've been talking, and we have a proposition for you. We're short one Career tribute, because 'Special' has wandered off on her own and decided to associate with total losers instead of us. True, she's only mediocre at training, but still. We have a reputation to uphold, and I hate to admit this, but we want you to help us uphold it. Like it or not, we see you're the best long-distance shot-put thrower out of the whole bunch of us. How about it?"

"Wait a minute," says Mikhail Rybakov, leaning forward. "First, I'd like to know how you honed your talent."

"What else? Coal-lump tossing, and the bigger the lump, the more food I got at meals." Daisy and Mars give me looks that say, _Hmph. Really?, _but it's absolutely true. "Despite what you may or may not have heard about the mining foremen in District Twelve, they do like to have fun, and their preferred way is via gambling. The more money that my bosses bet on me after the workday's done, and the more I win, the more I eat. Traditional Jews believe that placing monetary wagers is a sin, not to mention getting a tattoo, but like I said, my family doesn't practice. I'm a modern Israelite, you might say, and I'd like to be all in."

"You mean you'll join our group and fight?" asks Daisy brightly, blushing. "What are we waiting for, then?"

"How do I know you won't betray us?" sneers Mars, gritting his teeth. "Isn't that what your kind always do?"

"Do I look like I have any other friends?" No one else is paying attention to me. "I'll do whatever it takes." After a nod from our ferocious leader, Mars, Peridot, Carter, Mikhail, Daisy and I place our hands in the middle of the lunch table. _"CAREERS FOREVER!" _Our cheer resounds throughout the Training Center dining hall, inspiring fear and awe. Even though I'm wary of my new allies, I'm glad I have been chosen.

_**~ POV: Olivia Dalton, Age 13, District 12 Female Tribute ~**_

_THE CAREERS AREN'T ALL THAT! _

To counter them, I'm part of a group of the youngest female tributes in the Hunger Games. We've called ourselves the Phoenixes, and we're out to prove that just because we're little, it doesn't mean we're weak. Besides, some of the so-called Careers haven't trained all their lives at an Academy. Mikhail Rybakov is a crewman on a fishing boat, and Special? She's a reality-television diva, for crying out loud! I can already tell that she doesn't like me, which is why I let Evee, from District Three, speak what I've been thinking:

"What about letting some of the younger boys, like Orion Watts or Teddy Stearns, join our group too?"

"Are you kidding me?" asks Special. "It's not just about age, Eevee. It's about _gender. _Boys think they're so superior to girls, just because some of them are stronger and faster. Orion and Teddy don't do that so much, but it's still the battle of the sexes! Boys have always acted like they're the ones who do and should have everything, but we Phoenixes exist to prove them wrong. Right?" Taylor and I nod, although I think that Eevee and I are both right. "Look: In the poorer Districts, who does all the cooking and cleaning? Who takes care of the babies, and changes all their filthy diapers while the boys go out and do important stuff? The answer, of course, is girls. It's not only us versus the Careers, but us versus all the guys out there."

"Are you sure that's what we want?" I ask timidly. Special gives me another death glare: _Obviously not. _"What about asking some of the older girls who aren't Career tributes, like Aoife or Caissa?" I suggest.

"They're both expendable, and won't last long - especially the latter. Also, Aoife's missing some fingers, which means she'll be weak in combat. In case you haven't noticed, this isn't summer camp. Making more friends isn't the goal here. Survival is, and if none of us survive, then what good will our group be at all?" Eevee, Taylor, and Haley all nod, but I grumble inside: _You're hogging all the attention, as usual! How come the Phoenixes seem to be centered around you? Why can't they see through your façade of fame? In a couple of minutes, if everything goes well, you'll all witness what I can bring to the table - literally…_ I keep my eyes on Peridot Sartor, one of the most gorgeous girls I've ever seen. She coughs loudly. I grin.

"Avox!" Peri barks, spluttering. "My soup has too much salt in it. Can't you do your job properly, idiot?"

"Compliments of me," I whisper as softly as I dare. "In my District, I was the best thief around! When I could, which was almost all the time, I swiped everything that wasn't nailed down. When you're starving, you have to, and that's one lesson I wish Katniss Everdeen had learned. Maybe then, she and her fellow dissenters from Panem and the Capitol could have 'organized' more weapons than they did, but the past is past. Not only can I steal objects, but also plant them - like the extra salt in Peridot's lobster bisque! In the arena, if I can get my hands on weapons or poison, we'll be unstoppable. I'll filch supplies from the Careers or weaker tributes on their own, and that will give us a definite advantage. What do you say?"

Taylor looks at me with a wild and ravenous light in her eyes. Eevee appears awed: _How did you do that? _Haley rubs her hands together in anticipation, but Special? She just sits there like a lump of coal, because the dynamic of this group has suddenly shifted. She's no longer the brightest Phoenix around, and I'm glad. _At least I have abilities that will be useful in the Hunger Games, unlike you! Seraphina, you're not so special after all. All you do is run your mouth, and that's going to be a liability in the future, so watch out…_

_CRACK. _The five of us all hear the sickening sound. Our trainer, Flavius, has broken the Avox's neck.

"That's what people get when they don't acquire the skills they need to live one more day," he says darkly. "This fool without a tongue did not, and let that be a lesson to you. Learn it well, or perish in the arena." _I can't believe it! That poor young girl is dead because of me and what I did, but do I dare confess…? _

"Let it go, Olivia," Special says softly, and with surprising kindness in her voice. "Another skill we'll need to learn is how not to let someone else's death get to us. After all, if we blubber and cry every time a tribute gets killed, especially one who's not a Phoenix, then that gives someone else an opportunity to kill us!"


	14. TRIBUTE TEAMS AND SCORES

_**TRAINER FLAVIUS GRATIS: TRIBUTE TEAMS AND SCORES**_

_**~ POV: Flavius Gratis, Age 30, Head Hunger Games Trainer at the Capitol Training Center ~**_

"_LISTEN UP, YOU CRAWLING WRETCHES!"_

I stare at every single one of this year's tributes for the Hunger Games, half of whom jump at the sound of my voice. "Do you all believe I'm an imbecile? I've been listening in on your pathetic little conversations for the past three days, and how you think you're so smart by forming groups and alliances beforehand. As it turns out, I have a little surprise for you: By order of the Gamemakers, you are to be placed on six teams." Gasps and groans emerge from the arena fodder, and I place a list on the nearest wall. "Memorize it, and become familiar with your team members. If you kill one of your own before someone else, you'll receive a severe penalty - perhaps the loss of a sponsor, or a handicap specific to an area of the arena. _Forward!" _

_**RED TEAM: **__Mars Cutullo (11), Orion Watts (9), Aoife McCallan (7), Caissa Scheveningen (2)_

_**ORANGE TEAM: **__Carter Gneiss (10), Brandon Shimkus (6), Olivia Dalton (8), Emma Portnoy (5)_

_**YELLOW TEAM: **__Lance Umber (9), Gordon "Ghost" Rivers (8), Taylor Birchwood (4), Daisy Sayre (7)_

_**GREEN TEAM: **__Mikhail "Misha" Rybakov (11), Ceekyoo (7), Peridot "Peri" Sartor (10), Faith Goddard (6) _

_**BLUE TEAM: **__Jefferson "Jeff" Parker (8), Teddy Stearns (3), Eevee (6), Seraphina "Special" Lazuli (5) _

_**PURPLE TEAM: **__Noah Goddard (9), "Ike" Ouroboros (8), Melissa Carrington (6), Haley Orchardson (7) _

"I don't want to hear any of you complaining about which team you're on, because I drew your names completely at random," I tell the twenty-four tributes. "That way, strength won't be overly concentrated in any particular group. Every year the Careers form an unbreakable alliance, and every year they dominate. Usually, that makes the Games exciting, but according to audience polls in Panem, they want a break this time. They're tired of seeing the same Districts win, especially people who live in the poorer areas of Panem. I know - they're whiny weaklings who would never volunteer for the Games themselves - but we must keep our annual bloodbath popular as well as necessary. Got me?" Glum nods from the meatballs.

"Now, if you're all still paying attention, I'm going to give you three rules that you absolutely must follow if you're going to survive in the 77th Hunger Games." I clear my throat, enunciating the same axioms that I have in previous years, but with a touch of malice in my voice. _"Stearns! _Stand up tall and open your ears:

"_Rule One: Always look forward, and never look back. _Do you think the very first humans wanted to turn into dinosaurs, no matter that they had more highly-developed brains but no scales? Of course not! They wanted to _evolve, _not _devolve, _because they knew who they were. They were men, and not mere animals.

"_Rule Two: Be ever vigilant. _Keep all of your senses alert, even if you've been deprived of several of them! Many times in the Hunger Games arena, tributes die due to their own carelessness instead of the prowess of their opponents. Remember the girl called "Foxface" by that dead traitor Katniss Everdeen? She gulped down some poison berries because she thought she was so smart, stealing food from fellow competitors. I'm not saying that's a bad strategy, but remember, danger lies around every corner where you're going.

"_Rule Three: Kill or be killed. _As you can probably guess, this is the Hunger Games' most important rule. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, not only in the arena, but in life as well. Competition and conflict are the essence of our existence in Panem, and it's no different on a small scale than on a large one. Mercy? Kindness? Compassion and self-sacrifice? Altruism? All of those are worthless here, and I daresay they are in the wider world as well. Feeding the hungry only enables them in their dependency, and so does clothing the naked and giving the thirsty some water. Let them buy their own cup and drink from their own well! Once you step off your starting circle, tributes, all bets are off, and all friendships and relationships. However, your team is everything. Eliminate all opposition before you cannibalize your own people. _Move!" _


	15. CIRCLE ONE: LIMBO & BLOODBATH

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: What kind of a Hunger Games bloodbath is it where only five tributes die? One in my INFERNAL MAZE! My reasoning is this: The arena itself has nine levels, one corresponding to each Circle of Dante's Inferno. I want tributes to perish on every level, and that means I can't kill too many per Circle.)_

_**THE INFERNAL MAZE: ENTRANCE ARCHWAY**_

_**~ POV: Daisy Sayre, YELLOW TEAM, Age 16, District 4 Female Tribute ~**_

"_ABANDON HOPE, ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE? _What's that supposed to mean?"

_**THE INFERNAL MAZE: CIRCLE ONE - LIMBO: STARTING CIRCLES**_

_**~ POV: Caissa Scheveningen, RED TEAM, Age 17, District 5 Female Tribute ~**_

_SIXTY SECONDS OF LIFE LEFT._

_Fifty-nine…fifty-eight…fifty-seven…fifty-six…fifty-five…_

Why am I here?! Why did I volunteer, even for my best friend Verlan, whom everybody else hated? My heart is fluttering faster than a hummingbird's. Here on my starting circle I stand, praying not to fall down. I try to keep my breath quiet, but it's almost impossible. The twenty-four of us are standing within our land-mined barricades, collared with explosives and injected with trackers. I've been told that for some reason, if we trigger our collars, they won't blow our heads off completely. I wonder why? Come to think of it, there are a lot of things that I wonder, but I don't have much time to figure out answers to my myriad questions!

_Thirty…twenty-nine…twenty-eight…twenty-seven…twenty-six..twenty-five…_

Instead of being equally distant from a plentiful Cornucopia, we're within the same reach of the beginning of a maze. Will we all kill each other here, or try to work our way through the labyrinth before going for one another's throats? The arena is circular, and this level of it is warm, grassy and pleasant. No suffering lies here for the moment, unless we step off of our starting places early. How long will I survive? How long will _any_ of us survive? We may be on teams, but will we protect or betray one another from the beginning?

_Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…_

I'm as tense as a mockingjay on a wire in my home District, knowing that one false move could kill me.

_FIVE…_

Here we go. If I don't trip and fall on a landmine, I'll lag behind the others so I won't be much of a target.

_FOUR…_

We members of the Red Team all look at one another, and Mars gives me a solemn nod. I close my eyes.

_THREE…_

This world hasn't been very kind to me, but I hope that I made it a better place before I entered the arena!

_TWO…_

Did Trainer Flavius rig my collar to explode as soon as the gong sounded, like he threatened he would?

_ONE…_

_Goodbye, Misha! I love you…! BOOM._

_**THE INFERNAL MAZE: CIRCLE ONE - LIMBO: THE LABYRINTH**_

_**~ POV: Mikhail "Misha" Rybakov, GREEN TEAM, Age 18, District 4 Male Tribute ~**_

_AH, BOZHE MOY!* CAISSA! NO…_

My dearest lies prostrate on the ground, having fallen forward and collapsed as soon as the gong rang. Her collar has exploded, most likely due to that incorrigible _svoloch'* _Flavius rigging it, and I rush over to her in order to try and feel her pulse. It barely flickers, and it will be extinguished if I don't do something! _What the -? Why is Jeff Parker rushing over here all of a sudden, instead of heading on into the maze?_

_(*AH, BOZHE MOY! = OMG; *svoloch' = bastard)_

_**~ POV: Jefferson "Jeff" Parker, BLUE TEAM, Age 16, District 8 Male Tribute ~**_

_I'LL TAKE DOWN THIS CAREER!_

He's so distracted by his dead "little girlfriend" that he barely notices my fierce left hook! I'm all pumped full of adrenaline, while Mikhail's pumped full of tears. There's no way I'm going to lose this fight, because I've been a boxer all my life. All he's done is fish, and what good will that do him in a _mano-a-mano _brawl? I dart and punch, feeling more agile and strong than I've ever been in my entire life. It's all that Mikhail can do to dodge my blows, and he's no slouch in the physical fitness department. An idea jabs itself into my brain like a red-hot needle: _Why does this have to be a fair fight? Mikhail's on the Green Team, not mine, so he's fair game. Besides, he'll kill me if I don't do the same to him. These are the Hunger Games, not a series of rounds in an official boxing match! I have to throw rules out the window, or I'm going to die. _

I punch his groin with my right fist repeatedly - once, twice, three times, four, as he grits his teeth and tries to hide the agony. If he survives the arena, I'll make sure that Mikhail never has any children! On the fifth attempt to emasculate him, however, I suddenly notice where his own fist is headed - right for my head!

The last thing I see before my neck snaps clean in half is that Caissa's body has disappeared…(?!)

_CRACK. _

_**THE INFERNAL MAZE: CIRCLE ONE - LIMBO: CORNUCOPIA**_

_**~ POV: Melissa Carrington, PURPLE TEAM, Age 18, District 10 Female Tribute ~**_

_THAT MAZE WAS TOO EASY._

I'm surprised that the Gamemakers and designers of the arena didn't put more forethought into it. The Cornucopia was so visible that I reached it almost in an instant. When it's a life-or-death situation, or when I feel it is, I'm a good sprinter. You'd be surprised how many times I had to outrun a patient at my father's mental health center when I was on my way to tutor Teddy! Speaking of my young charge, even though we're on separate teams, I'll try to watch his back. _All right - the mother lode! _Everything I and my team need is here: garments, medicine, weapons, food, containers of water, and fire starters like flint. To my dismay, however, several of the other tributes from different teams also locate the Cornucopia at around the same time I do. I try to crouch down and keep my head low, but someone pulls my hair hard and fast! Since that person's behind me, I can't see my attacker's face as s/he slams my head forcefully into the side of the metal Horn of Plenty. My vision goes from fine, to watery, to blurry, to bloody, to none at all…

_THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. _

_**~ POV: Olivia Dalton, ORANGE TEAM, Age 13, District 12 Female Tribute ~**_

_I'VE MADE MY FIRST KILL! _

Still, how did I manage to overpower Melissa Carrington and beat her head into a bloody pulp like that?! No time to think. I've got to grab what she's just taken for either herself or the Purple Team: two daggers, a swath of bandages, a packet of trail mix, and a full canteen of water. All of that is going in my satchel, and now I've got to go. Wait - where's the exit to the next level of the arena? It's got to be _somewhere! _Don't you dare tell me that this Cornucopia is a trap, and there's nowhere left to run except around and around in a circle until all of us die except one! _It's not fair, not fair, not fair, not fair, not fair - AN AXE!_

_SLICE. _

_**~ POV: Lance Umber, YELLOW TEAM, Age 18, District 7 Male Tribute ~**_

_OLIVIA WAS GOOD FOR STARTERS._

Why was she running like a chicken with its head cut off? For cripes' sake, this bloodbath isn't over, and more tributes have to die before these Games get underway! I got her with a throwing axe, of which there are ten in the bundle I carry. I'm going to have to use these well and carefully, especially so I don't kill any tributes on my own Yellow Team. Let's see - there are so many of us dashing willy-nilly around this Cornucopia that I can't get a good aim. How many have died already? I can't stop to count. Oh, no, Mars, no you don't, I'm not letting you wrap that rope - _GAHHHHHHK! _I knew you were strong, but _DAMN! _Come on, man. We're both Careers, despite what our team colors say. How can you betray me like this? _Not only…that…but we were sparring partners…Mars…no…you can't…can't…hate….you. Hate…hate…hate._

_GURGLE. _

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM A CORNUCOPIA LOUDSPEAKER ~**_

_**Hello, tributes. Did you find this labyrinth a little too facile for your considerable abilities? For the more stupid among you, WAS THIS MAZE TOO EASY FOR YOU? Stop your slaughtering at once, at least for now. Five have already perished. Cannon shots shall now be fired on their behalf, as their names and images are displayed. Please stand reverently, and do look up before you FALL…**_

_**THOSE TRIBUTES LOST:**_

_**1. Caissa Scheveningen, RED TEAM, Age 17, District 5 Female Tribute. Collar rigged by Flavius.**_

_**2. Jefferson "Jeff" Parker, BLUE TEAM, Age 16, District 8 Male Tribute. Slain by Mikhail Rybakov.**_

_**3. Melissa Carrington, PURPLE TEAM, Age 18, District 10 Female Tribute. Slain by Olivia Dalton.**_

_**4. Olivia Dalton, ORANGE TEAM, Age 13, District 12 Female Tribute. Slain by Lance Umber. **_

_**5. Lance Umber, YELLOW TEAM, Age 18, District 7 Male Tribute. Slain by Mars Cutullo. **_

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: The nineteen remaining tributes tumble through a hidden trapdoor to the next Circle.)_


	16. CIRCLE TWO: LUST

_**THE INFERNAL MAZE: CIRCLE TWO: LUST: THE LABYRINTH**_

_**~ POV: C.Q. (also written as "Ceekyoo"), GREEN TEAM, Age 15, District 3 Male Tribute ~**_

_EUCLID! ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?!_

_Whew - _you're still in my pocket, shaking like a leaf but safe and sound. I would die, even in these brutal Hunger Games, before I let anything bad happen to you. You're the only real friend I have in the world now, even though you're a _Rattus norvegicus _instead of a _Homo sapiens! _You may have white fur and four tiny paws, but right now, you're the best navigator in the entire arena. Do you remember how I got you? I said that I wanted a pet, but not a cat or dog since they were too ordinary and common. I wanted a small pet, one I could hold in the palm of my hand and cuddle. So, Dad talked to one of his friends who was an orderly in one of the District Three labs, which conducted experiments regarding fancy rats and electronic devices. Could a rat be intelligent enough to use the most complex of them? You were! Nonetheless, you were slated for some _other tests, _and that was when Dad's friend rescued you. Now, I need you to do the same for me. This labyrinth is dim and damp, and the synthetic gale-force winds in here are horrendous! Can you help guide me through this labyrinth toward the center? That's where we both need to go.

_That's it. Keep going. Good, Euclid, good. I'll keep watching you, but I have to watch my back as well…_

_**~ POV: Brandon Shimkus, ORANGE TEAM, Age 14, District 6 Male Tribute ~**_

_WHY'S IT DARK DOWN HERE?_

If I'm supposed to find my way through this giant circular maze, and fast, then why can't I see much of anything? I didn't get to go to the movie theater very often in my home District, but sometimes one of my Peacekeeper friends took me. The lighting down here is on par with that at the Travelocinema, once the show began and people started making out. Sometimes I scrunched down in my seat and listened closely: not to the show, of course, but to the noises the moviegoers were making. Beneath the slobbery crunching of popcorn, the slurping of sodas, and the incessant ringing and vibrating of people's phones, there were _other noises, _veryprivate ones that I couldn't believe people were emitting in a public place! Thankfully, the only sounds down here on this second level of the Hunger Games arena are the stomps of tributes' feet. We're all dashing around like crazed animals, rats, and I highly dislike being one of them! Still, there is one other clue to our whereabouts: _smell. _I hone in on a particularly delicious one, which reminds me of green apples. What on Earth could it be? I suddenly feel myself stiffen, but not with fear. It's lovely _PERI!_

Without knowing what my arms and legs are doing, as if they have minds of their own, I feel them clamp like a vise around Peridot Sartor! A Career tribute is in my arms, and I might be dead soon, but I'll enjoy paradise while it lasts! Peri thrashes and grasps, but I hold her fast. "What are you waiting for? Kill me!"

"That's not what I want," I whisper in her ear. "I want from you what Mikhail did to Caissa. _Checkmate." _

Out of all sounds that I could have heard from Peri in the next moment, I don't expect this one. Instead of a disgusted grunt, or even a loud scream, I hear laughter: derisive, cruel, and low-voiced _laughter, _clear as the sound of the bell on the Capitol train! "You poor, deluded fourteen-year-old fool! Let me put you out of your misery…" At the Cornucopia, I saw Peridot grab a light flail - a rod attached to a ball and chain with _spikes. _Isn't that a metaphor for marriage if I ever saw one? Goodness knows my own parents' "happy home" was actually miserable! Needless to say, in the near-darkness, I notice Peri reaching for her flail. _She's_ the one who wants to murder _me, _not the other way around, and who can blame her?! Before I can even react, the spiked ball, upon its silver chain, whirls above my head and finds its way into my skull…

_CRUNCH. _

_**~ POV: Peridot Sartor, GREEN TEAM, Age 16, District 1 Female Tribute ~**_

_THAT LITTLE, PATHETIC, SICKO PERVERT! _

There was no _way_ I was going to let him do what he wanted, especially since he was so young, and we were on opposite teams. I know these are the Hunger Games, but they're not meant to satisfy that kind of appetite! Then again, why don't I form a "strategic alliance" with my teammate Mikhail Rybakov? He's not as strong as Mars Cutullo, or as handsome as that idiot Lance Umber _was, _but he's got that Russian vibe to him: dark, brooding, and highly intellectual. He's not the only one who knows how to seduce, either. I do, and have taken several of my fellow Careers-in-training into the confines of my perfumed chambers. There he is, up ahead! Since we can't kill any members of our own team before we've slaughtered all the members of the other teams, I'll be safe around him. Besides, he can probably smell green apples nearby!

…_WHAT?! _How could he turn me down, after all we both have been through? His little conquest is _dead, _and he'd rather mourn her while trying to win the Games by himself than team up with me? Unbelievable! How could he prefer to cling to her memory instead of hold me, a warm and living goddess, in his arms? This means only one thing: I don't care if I lose any sponsors, or will face a penalty in the next level of the arena. I'm going to flail Mikhail to death once we reach the center of the maze. _No one _spurns Peri Sartor.

_**THE INFERNAL MAZE: CIRCLE TWO: LUST: THE CENTER OF THE STORM**_

_**~ POV: Seraphina "Special" Lazuli, BLUE TEAM, Age 12, District 2 Female Tribute ~**_

_YAY! I GOT HERE FIRST!_

I can't believe I made it to the middle of this stupid maze before anyone else, even the Careers! For one thing, it was _hard, _and not only because of the dimness. It's a good thing I was genetically engineered to have perfect vision. The wind was also terrible, smelling of our sweat and stale sneakers, which is no fun. I need a shower right now, not just after I win the Hunger Games! I wonder what's on the lower levels of the arena. Do they stink worse than this? If they do, I'm in trouble. Are there any clothespins in my satchel to clamp over my nose? Nope. All I have is a loaf of bread, a canteen of water, and a razor-sharp knife. That's all I could grab before running toward the maze's center on the first level. That reminds me: why was this maze so difficult, as compared to the previous one? Do they get harder as we go down further?

Uh-oh! Other tributes are starting to show up, so I'd better keep on guard. What's that fan above us…?

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM WALL-MOUNTED LOUDSPEAKERS ~**_

_**Greetings, my good tributes. I hope this labyrinth has been a bit more challenging than the one before. After all, we can't make the Hunger Games arena too mercifully easy, now, can we? This Circle, as I'd like to call it, was full of gusts and the scent of unspent passion. Passion and lust. Love may make the world go round, but it's the darker and wilder feelings between people that turn perfectly-utilitarian biological functions into evil ones. Ah-ah-ah! Don't you DARE move just yet, because all of you nineteen LUCKY souls are now in the center of the storm. Isn't it peaceful? Isn't it perfectly calm? Well, all of that is about to change, and some of you won't be so lucky…**_

_**~ POV: Isaac "Ike" Ouroboros, PURPLE TEAM, Age 16, District 12 Male Tribute ~**_

"_LINK ARMS! GRAB HANDS! NOW!" _

Fortunately, everyone obeys my shouted command, and I intertwine my own arms with those of my own teammate Haley Orchardson. She's only thirteen years old, and fair game for tributes like the Careers. I want to protect her as much as I can, because we on the Purple Team have already lost poor Melissa Carrington! We can't afford to be taken out, either one by one or by multiple slain members. Haley and I lie flat on the floor of this level of the arena, and then the fan starts. To my horror, it sucks air _upward… _Faster and harder, the rushing wind comes, and I can read the red gauge on the far wall to my left. We are all in a conical enclosure, and our fate becomes painfully obvious as the younger ones start to cry:

_60 MPH…80 MPH…100 MPH…120 MPH…140 MPH…160 MPH…_

At the 200 mile-per-hour mark, I hear a scream unlike no other: long, wailing like a mythical banshee's. My better judgment fails me, and I dare to glance up as Peridot Sartor is sucked into the fan's whirring blades!

_SHRED. _

The hurricane-force gale immediately ceases, splattering us with unspeakable red gore. I flinch, biting my lower lip as hard as I can. Covered with blood and who knows what else, I listen to President Coriolanus:

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM WALL-MOUNTED LOUDSPEAKERS ~**_

_**Enough! The two who have been most truly lustful have paid for it, and that's a sufficient sacrifice. Look on the wall to your left, above the wind-speed gauge. Gaze upon the names of the dead, as two cannon shots are fired in their honor. This Circle was harrowing, but not harrowing enough…**_

_**THOSE TRIBUTES LOST:**_

_**1. Brandon Shimkus, ORANGE TEAM, Age 14, District 6 Male Tribute. Slain by Peridot Sartor.**_

_**2. Peridot Sartor, GREEN TEAM, Age 16, District 1 Female Tribute. Slain by fan in Lust's Circle. **_


	17. CIRCLE THREE: GLUTTONY

_**THE INFERNAL MAZE: CIRCLE THREE: GLUTTONY: THE LABYRINTH**_

_**~ POV: Haley Orchardson, PURPLE TEAM, Age 13, District 11 Female Tribute ~**_

_IT COMPLETELY REEKS DOWN HERE!_

Thankfully, this third level of the Hunger Games arena is a little bit brighter than the second one, but, Lord, does it _stink! _Not only that, but there's some kind of slushy water hitting us from what must be a sprinkler system up above us in the ceiling. _Great, so now we're cold, wet AND dirty. What next, stepping in dung? Oh, my gosh - that's exactly what I've done! _On the floor of this maze, which looks to be even harder than the ones on the upper two levels we've conquered, there is dung, and it appears to be human. _GAG! _Not only that, but I and the other tributes are all primarily stepping in garbage: orange peels, rotten eggs, wilted lettuce leaves, rancid meat, moldy grapes, and the like. The paper waste mainly consists of different types of wrappers and torn packages for food. I recognize most of it, even though it's name-brand, because this is Panem. Commercials are on nonstop, even with all the shows I watch when I'm not picking fruit in the orchards. _Crunchips. Chocolites. Sugarblasts. Funfruits. _The boxes for all of these products are there, and I yearn to taste even one of these things! In District Eleven, even though there's food all around you on the vines and trees outside, we pickers aren't allowed to eat any of it. If we do and get caught, then we're whipped in public by Peacekeepers. The bounty is for the Capitol, not us, even though we do all the work!

Speaking of work, it's slow going through this particular maze, because I'm knee-deep in odiferous trash. Unlike the other two labyrinths, through which I could try to run, there's no way I can do that this time! The further I go, the worse it smells, even though I keep telling myself I'll eventually get used to it. However, as soon as my nose has become acclimated to the odor of rank citrus peels, a barrage of something new and unexpected, such as a strong whiff of expired creamed corn, leaves me reeling! If I survive the arena, I'll pay a lot more attention to the little I throw away, because this is revolting on an almost-lethal level…

_Oh, no! I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, because this is a dead end. Wait: what's that noise? AAAAHHHHH! I'm falling, along with all the garbage, and unless I'm mistaken, I know where it's headed:_

_A GARBAGE DISPOSAL…_

_**!/GRIND/!**_

_**~ POV: Orion Watts, RED TEAM, Age 12, District 5 Male Tribute ~**_

_WHAT IS THIS LEVEL'S PURPOSE?_

I know I'm being pelted with what feels like sleet, but I also know that all of us tributes are indoors, so why would it be sleeting? Beyond that, I'm up to my knees in squishy, slimy substances. What are they? I don't want to touch any of them, because in this highly-convoluted maze, they might be poisonous. Also, some of the materials strewn in the labyrinth crunch beneath my feet. They feel like cardboard boxes, and they might as well be. If this level of the arena is full of trash, I wonder why the Gamemakers designed it that way? I suppose disgusting smells and stepping in who knows what kind of waste would slow us up, but then again, that kind of stuff doesn't really bother me. I can't see or smell anything. I can only touch, and right now, all I want to touch are the walls of this labyrinth. That's the only way I'm going to get through it, with having all my other senses taken from me. As much as I hate to admit it, in these circumstances, the mayor of my District was right: having only touch to guide me makes me darn-near indistractible!

_A bend in the wall. That means there's a turn, and this particular turn is either to the left or right. Hmm. From somewhere, I can feel a certain suction, like that horrible fan on that level before! From where is it coming? I'd better concentrate: YES. To the right, because I can feel a slight pull on the skin of my face, like a barely-perceptible breeze. That means I'll go left, because I don't want to walk into that breeze. It could signify a trap, and whatever it takes, I don't want to fall into one. That's why I'm clinging to the wall. Someone could very well find me and kill me, and I won't sense them until too late, but that's a risk I've got to take. No other tribute is blind, deaf, and without olfactory and palate-tingling abilities all at once…_

_**THE INFERNAL MAZE: CIRCLE THREE: GLUTTONY: BEGGARS AT THE FEAST**_

_**~ POV: Gordon "Ghost" Rivers, Age 15, District 11 Male Tribute ~**_

_LOOK AT THAT GIGANTIC TENT! _

All of us tributes who still remain in the Hunger Games have made it to the center of the third maze, which was much more taxing than the other ones. The labyrinth on Level One of the arena was basically a long, curved hallway from the starting point to the Cornucopia, which wasn't much of a challenge at all. On Level Two, it was slightly harder, but this one? All the smelly garbage made me sick, and what was worse, there were twists and turns in parts of the maze that you wouldn't believe! As much as I'm embarrassed to admit this, I had to throw up in one of the little dead-end crevices. No one could trudge through that much filth and not be raging-sick afterward - except for maybe Orion Watts, who looks perfectly cool and calm. I know he can't see or hear me, but if I dare to clap him on the shoulder because we made it, he'll kill me. My machete, which I grabbed from the Cornucopia, will defend against that, but will I be quick enough to use it? I'd better not take the chance and approach Orion. Instead, I'll head inside this enormous tent! It's white and enclosed with heavy-duty plastic, and a flicker of a good memory returns to me as I enter it:

_It's a wedding-reception tent. I know because my sister Cecilia saved up ever since she was a little girl for one like this, which she saw on a TV show broadcast out of District Two. What do you know - it even has showers at the near entrance, with soap! There seem to be enough for all of us, so if no one kills me…_

Those of us who are left - _oh, no, my District partner Haley didn't make it! - _scrub up under the showers at the outside entrance to the tent, which has a plain dirt floor within it instead of one strewn with untold horrors from who knows how many trash cans! The dirt turns to lathery mud underneath us, but we don't care. We'd rather have dirty shoes than dirty bodies right now, and none of us strip our clothes off. After all, we stink everywhere, and the odor of this level has seeped into our arena uniforms as well as our skin! Once we're all done, we wring out our wet shirts and pants as best we can, and head inside the tent itself.

_**~ POV: Teddy Stearns, BLUE TEAM, Age 12, District 10 Male Tribute ~**_

_UH-OH. SO MUCH FOOD…_

The worst thing is that I'm tempted to devour it. Knowing this horrific arena, what if it's all poisoned?! Only one of us can be the victor of the 77th annual Hunger Games, and what better way to kill most of us off than to tempt us with such delicious and remarkable entrées? There's something here for everyone, including "Ike" Ouroboros, who's a Greek Jew by descent. I know he keeps saying he doesn't follow that faith, but there is still a heaping plate of barbecued ribs that he might very well enjoy! When I was at the Carrington Mental Health Center, permanently institutionalized in one of its pediatric wards, I did a lot of reading. One of my main interests was in religions that people used to practice in the days before Panem. In the chapter on Judaism, there was a section on which foods were considered kosher and which were not. When it comes to beef, only the forequarter parts of the cow are eaten, as the rear parts are unclean. Thus, the ribs will be okay for Ike to eat if he wants them - and if they're not loaded with vile toxins…As for me? I'm used to medical protein shakes and bread, which is why I'm drooling over the chocolate shake. You might wonder why I'm not slavering over all the other food, but the truth is that I'm getting nauseous. This tent might be waterproof, but it's not scent-proof, and I can still smell the decaying garbage outside.

Daisy Sayre, the beautiful blonde from District Four, asks the obvious question: "What if this food kills us?"

"You mean if it's poisoned?" continues Mars Cutullo. "How would we know that unless we ate it, huh?"

Clearing his throat, the meek electronics expert Ceekyoo, with his hair wet and frizzed from the shower, steps forward. "I think my furry friend here might have something to say about that." Gingerly, he removes a large white rat from the pocket of his green shirt. "Everyone? This is Euclid, and right now, I'm going to ask him something very important." He turns the rat toward him. "Euclid? I…This is going to be hard, I know, but would you like to be a hero?" Silence from the rodent. "Would you like to help save all of us?"

"_Wait a minute!" _shrieks "Special" Lazuli, who's my teammate (unfortunately). "No rat is eating MY food!"

"If it's full of substances that could kill you, you'd definitely want the rat to die before you did," grumbles Aoife McCallan, the girl from District Eight who's lost two fingers. "Why don't you let him give it all a try?" Sometimes Special is a little short on brains, to no one's surprise, and so she reluctantly nods after a bit.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Euclid?" Ceekyoo's beloved pet squeaks confidently. "All right. I'd like you to climb onto the buffet table here and check all of these entrées. Take only a tiny lick, and wait a bit between tasting each food." Remarkably, the rat obeys, sniffing every dish thoroughly. It's strange: There were also vermin at the Carrington Mental Health Center, especially in the wards with "messers" - people who soiled their pants repeatedly. I was drafted to scrub the floors on one ward as punishment for mouthing off to one of the orderlies, and there were plenty of rats. They were nothing like Euclid, who is as tame as a dog or cat! There are three particular foods he sniffs and avoids: a plate of ham, a bowl full of scalloped potatoes, and - oddly enough - the chocolate protein shake. Once he's done, Euclid returns to his master, who puts him back in his pocket. "I guess that's that. Other than those three things, all the other stuff seems safe to eat. Euclid sniffed it, licked it, and is suffering no ill effects so far. Let's dig in!"

"Hold on," Taylor Birchwood grumbles. "I agree with Special: that test is the stupidest thing I ever saw. Let's just avoid the food and go on to the next level, wherever it is, once we find the trapdoor down to it."

"_I'm hungry!" _That's a wail from Emma Portnoy, but it sounds remarkably like a little girl's. "Let's eat…" She reaches for the protein shake, but in a split second, I grab it. "Hey, _psycho! _That's mine! I saw it first!" Without another word, I gulp it down - every last drop. I intend to put the glass back on the buffet table, of course, but I collapse with a violent stomach cramp. Everyone else steps back, and Emma screams.

I vomit, and then taste blood in my throat. _Hydrogen peroxide! It has to be. Tasteless. Odorless. It's the perfect poison to give to someone who's spent all his life in a mental institution, because he's been around it so much…and…would never suspect…that something that healed his wounds…would kill him…_

_If this makes everyone…else…avoid the poisoned food…better to die a hero than live to be a villain…_

_**!/GAG/!**_

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM A SPEAKER ON THE BUFFET TABLE ~**_

_**Eat up while you can, tributes. You'll receive no other banquets on the lower levels of the arena, IF you make it there. Against all my most careful calculations, the rat that the tribute from District Three smuggled into the Hunger Games has passed his little "test". So have you all. Don't be foolish and gobble down the things that "Euclid" has avoided! Gluttony is the sin of this level, so don't eat too much, or who knows? One of these dishes could still have a toxin in it. Bon appetit! While you're enjoying your meals, please glance on the tent wall upon the names of those fallen:**_

_**THOSE TRIBUTES LOST:**_

_**1. Haley Orchardson, PURPLE TEAM, Age 13, District 11 Female Tribute. Garbage disposal trap.**_

_**2. Teddy Stearns, BLUE TEAM, Age 12, District 10 Male Tribute. Poisoned by protein shake. **_


	18. CIRCLE FOUR: GREED & SPENDTHRIFT

_**THE INFERNAL MAZE: CIRCLE FOUR: GREED AND SPENDTHRIFT: THE LABYRINTH**_

_**~ POV: Taylor Birchwood, YELLOW TEAM, Age 14, District 7 Female Tribute ~**_

_I HATE FALLING THROUGH TRAPDOORS! _

I'm serious! Directly underneath and around the buffet table, where we were all standing on the previous stinky level of the arena, there was a secret trapdoor beneath all the dirt. Hardly had I finished eating my favorite foods, two venison steaks, when I almost threw them up because I was so scared as I fell. If this keeps up, someone is eventually going to land on their head or break their neck…I guess that's one more peril of the Hunger Games, and even though I hate it, I'm going to do whatever it takes to win. Right now, though, I'm grateful for small blessings: a full belly, a clean body and uniform, and landing on my feet! Thankfully, this fourth section of the arena doesn't reek, although the walls seem to be made of stone. I have heard of "rock-climbing walls" before, especially on the reality-TV show _Man'O'Stone. _Maybe the stone is fake, like on those rock-climbing walls, but the ceiling looks treacherous. It has too many cracks.

The maze itself is still harder than the ones on the three levels above us, but I'm not worried. Back home in the Lumber District, when I had a lunch break, I would take my meager ration of bread and water out to the forest and eat it in secret. Every day, I'd wander further into the woods, intending to find an empty cave or someplace to take shelter so that my foremen would never find me again. That never happened, however. In the confines of this labyrinth, as I try and rush through it to get to the center, I can't help but wonder: _Was it just my bad luck that I never did find any caves, or was I too chicken to hide out forever? Like it or not, I had a roof over my head at home, and even though I had to toil at work for at least twelve hours a day, I got fed. _I dash around yet another corner, and what do I see but - a huge pile of money!

_It's got to be a trap. Still, I'll check it out, even though it would only make me a target if I took any of it. _

_**~ POV: Aoife McCallan, RED TEAM, Age 18, District 8 Female Tribute ~**_

_I COULD ELIMINATE TAYLOR BIRCHWOOD…_

There she is, staring at a heap of coinage more magnificent than either of us have probably ever seen! She's a sitting duck here in this maze. I could sneak up behind her and finally use my garroting collar, which I snatched from the plenty of the Horn. We're on completely different teams, Red and Yellow. There are no other tributes around, and it's either her or me. Then again - I can't do it. She and I both know what it's like to be poor, and so who could blame either of us for staring at that pile of money like hungry lions? Oh, no - there she goes, and I've lost my chance! It's just as well. Out of all my fellow competitors, I don't want to kill Taylor unless I absolutely have to. She's a strong girl, although four years younger than I am.

_SMASH! _

I duck instantly, missing a large rock thrown at our heads by mere inches. Taylor's luckier: she doesn't even notice the stone until it shatters against the far wall. We both whirl our heads around, but see no one. There's only one tribute among us who could throw a rock with that much accuracy from that far away: Isaac "Ike" Ouroboros, the handsome coal miner from District Twelve who has joined up with the Careers! They were right to admire his physical prowess, and I suck in my breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Taylor quivering like Ceekyoo's rat Euclid did, right before he tested the food that we recently ate. I make a split-second decision, knowing that it could cost me my life and the Games, but risk it anyway:

"Don't worry," I murmur to Taylor, as softly as I can so only we can hear each other. Then: _"RUN!" _We clasp hands, charge forward, and dodge three more stone missiles hurled by Ike. We sprint for what seems like hours, although only minutes have gone by. Are we any closer to the center than we were before? We certainly weren't going backwards. In the near distance, I hear someone give a whoop of triumph, so I know we must be on the right track. When Taylor and I duck into a dead-end crevice after carefully checking for traps, I ask Miss Birchwood: "Would you like to form an alliance with me? I know we're on different teams, but hear me out." Taylor sits in the crevice beside me, too stunned even to reach for whatever weapon she carries. Thus, I continue: "Mars is an arse, and I'd betray him in a heartbeat! He is unnecessarily cruel, and I despise that. Also, Caissa Scheveningen is dead, poor lass, and Orion won't last much longer. I suspect he has no clue which tributes are already gone, or even what to do on each level of the arena. Still, he got a score of nine in training! I want to help you, because you, too, are strong."

"No, I'm not," she mumbles uneasily. "I only earned a four, and I'm in an alliance already." I sense definite doubt in her voice, however, as she reveals to me who her compatriots are: "Special and Eevee, from District Three, are still alive. I miss Haley and Olivia, though. They're both dead." She sniffles. "We named ourselves the Phoenixes, but two of us will never rise again!" To my surprise, she begins to weep, and I stand Taylor up as I hug her. "How about you being an _unofficial _Phoenix, Aoife? My secret partner?"

"Until the end," I tell her, "but we'll cross that bridge when it comes. In the meantime, let's hurry, because I have a feeling the center of this maze is close!" We pick up the pace, and my suspicion proves correct…

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM WALL-MOUNTED LOUDSPEAKERS ~**_

_**Salutations once more, my fifteen unfortunate tributes! I have SUCH a surprise for you right now. Since you have all made it to the center of this fourth labyrinth unscathed, you deserve a special reward. Do you see that chest over against the far wall, to your right? That chest is full of medicine and bandages, which you shall surely need for the deeper levels of the Infernal Maze. Do you also see that chest against the far left wall? That chest can only be opened and used AFTER the little challenge that I have for you. Last but not least, do you see the giant bags and the red circle in the center of this maze? GOOD. I'll need a female volunteer for this test, to represent Dame Fortune…**_

_**~ POV: Daisy Sayre, Age 16, District 4 Female Tribute ~**_

"_I VOLUNTEER! I VOLUNTEER! If you can actually hear me, President Coriolanus, I volunteer!" _

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM WALL-MOUNTED LOUDSPEAKERS ~**_

_**Thank you. Your job in this test of strength is threefold: to pick teams, make sure they don't cheat, and to…punish…any cheaters and the losing team severely. Seven souls shall be on each team, and that way both teams shall be even. Your objective? Take one more look at the bags. They're full of filthy lucre - that's right, MONEY! One is against the right wall, and one against the left. Teams? Your objective is to push your bag into the center of the red circle before the other one does. That's it: that is your test for dropping through to the next level of the arena. If you are on the losing team, you MAY lose the one thing most important to you. Begin, and GOOD LUCK! **_

_**~ POV: Daisy Sayre, Age 16, District 4 Female Tribute ~**_

"All right. You heard the man, however creepy he is! If I'm supposed to pick teams as Dame Fortune, then let's get started. Each team will have a captain, and I'll select those right now. Mars? You're one captain, and Carter? You're the other one." When the teams are finalized by my orders, here's how they stack up:

_Team One: _Mars, Aoife, Orion, Mikhail, Ike, "Ghost" and Taylor

_Team Two: _Carter, Emma, Noah, Faith, "Special", Eevee and Ceekyoo

When "Special" Lazuli protests that my team assignments aren't fair, I remind her that since I volunteered to be Dame Fortune first, whatever I say goes. She pouts, taking her place on the second team, but I don't care a whit about her sulking. Ever since I met her on the train, she's been a pain, and nothing else. That simpering twelve-year-old thinks she's gorgeous, but without her makeup, she's nothing "special" at all! I clear my throat and announce the challenge formally: "All right. No cheating, or I kill you with my bow and arrow. That may be an unconventional weapon for a lady from District Four, but I intend to use it if I see any foul play! Your task is simple: push your giant bag of money to the center of the ring. Ready? _GO!" _

The two teams push and push, straining against their weights. Who knew that coin sacks, even those that are ten times the size of ordinary beanbag chairs, could be so heavy? Each member strains to move their sack even one inch, and it takes a full hour before they even come close to breaching the red circle! No one tries anything funny, however, which comes as somewhat of a surprise to me. I had believed that at least some of the more aggressive boys, like Mars and Carter, would slay one of their weaker teammates, but they withhold their Hunger-Games-bred killer instincts for now. When the challenge comes to an end, the most astonishing and horrible thing happens: both teams smash their bags against each other at the exact same moment! The contest is a draw! I stand stock-still, terrified of what the President will say…

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM WALL-MOUNTED LOUDSPEAKERS ~**_

_**This was not supposed to happen. One team was to be victorious, and the other defeated. Dame Fortune, I believe this means you have to shoot one member of each team, since NO ONE WON!**_

_**~ POV: Daisy Sayre, YELLOW TEAM, Age 16, District 4 Female Tribute ~**_

"I…I don't suppose there are any volunteers?" When no one answers - when no one dares to _breathe_ - I decide to take out the members of each team that either annoy me or creep me out the most. I aim my bow at one boy from Team One, and one girl from Team Two. That way I keep it fair, or at least as fair it can be under the circumstances. Startled, the tributes' eyes grow wide, but they don't even have a chance to run. Orion and "Special" Lazuli fall dead, one after the other, an arrow straight through their hearts.

_**!/THWACK/! !/THWACK/!**_

Once this dreadful task is done, I string another arrow so the mob won't rush me for doing what I just did.

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM WALL-MOUNTED LOUDSPEAKERS ~**_

_**Very good. No cannon shots need to be fired, or images displayed, because you know who died. The lesson here is clear: greed costs, and so do waste and prodigality! Grab what you can from the supply chest against the wall on your right, ever-so-generously donated by your sponsors. My dearest Lady Luck? The contents of the chest on the left are yours - ALL YOURS - so, have at it! **_

_**~ POV: Daisy Sayre, YELLOW TEAM, Age 16, District 4 Female Tribute ~**_

My treasure chest is full of arrows, knives, poison bottles, stones, and even a longsword: everything I'll need to survive the arena's lower levels. "Lady Luck" is a good name for me, because I can't believe mine! However, once I finish stuffing all I can into my satchel, I see thirteen pairs of eyes hungrily staring at me.

I try and make a break for it, but the mob's flailing arms and kicking feet stop me from doing _anything…_

_**!/TRAMPLE/!**_

_**THOSE TRIBUTES LOST:**_

_**1. Orion Watts, RED TEAM, Age 12, District 5 Male Tribute. Shot by Daisy Sayre's arrow. **_

_**2. "Special" Lazuli, BLUE TEAM, Age 12, District 2 Female Tribute. Shot by Daisy Sayre's arrow.**_

_**3. Daisy Sayre, YELLOW TEAM, Age 16, District 4 Female Tribute. Trampled by tribute mob of 13.**_


	19. CIRCLE FIVE: WRATH & SULLENNESS

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: After a major plumbing clusterproblem at my house, I have moved back in AT LAST! By the way, my perennial reviewer E.J. Dulore is right: there were only 12 tributes in the mob that killed Daisy Sayre in the last chapter, not 13. Math was never my strongest subject…*BLUSH* On with the tale!)_

_**THE INFERNAL MAZE: CIRCLE FIVE: WRATH AND SULLENNESS: THE LABYRINTH**_

_**~ POV: Noah Goddard, PURPLE TEAM, Age 17, District 9 Male Tribute ~**_

_WHAT DID WE JUST DO?! _

One minute, the twelve of us tributes left in the Hunger Games were just standing there, staring at Daisy Sayre with her treasure chest full of weapons. The next minute, we went _insane, _and I don't mean in the sense of Teddy Stearns. He had actual mental health problems, but we didn't - not up until that moment! All of us lost control, including me, and here I'd prided myself on being so cool and calm while others died. The thing is, as soon as we saw what Daisy got all to herself, none of us could hold back our sheer greed. However, it wasn't only avarice that turned us into monsters: it was frustration and pure rage. I'm not even going to try and justify myself for what I did to "Lady Luck". Along with Mars Cutullo, I held Daisy down while the others bit, kicked, scratched and bludgeoned her. I'm supposed to be a Christian, but now I know I'm not. Ever since I was four years old and got saved, I've said that I love Jesus, but how can that be true now? How can I profess Christ when I participated in a murder? I didn't strike the killing blow, but nevertheless, I could have done what He did and laid down my life in Daisy's place. Instead, I fell in league with people like Misha Rybakov and Mars, two other killers who don't know Christ. I became one with the angry mob instead of rising above it! How could I have utterly betrayed my Savior and my own heart?

I know that under ordinary circumstances, I could repent and beg for God's forgiveness, but I can't. These are the Games, and if I'm going to survive, I've got more killing to do. How can I ever say I'm sorry for executing the tributes who are eventually going to fall under my warhammer's wrath? Sure, I can do that after everything's all over, and I win, but what good would that do? Survival may be the name of the game in this arena, but when I'm out of it and the victor's crown is on my head, how will I answer my Lord? I've become completely despicable in a single stroke, and have brought shame upon the faith that I practice. Better to have died with the poor souls up on the first level than to have shed blood like a homicidal maniac! I suppose what I must do now is face up to what I've become: a lost sheep. I also must move forward and onward, because if I don't, I'm going to die. Perhaps I _should _die, because the Bible is right: _He that kills with the sword, must be killed with the sword. _Why should I escape such just punishment?

We all have much to fear, but I more than most. Unlike the rest, I am held to a higher law than that of the Hunger Games! I wonder what my sister's thinking right now. Is she still alive? Has God protected her?

_**~ POV: Faith Goddard, GREEN TEAM, Age 16, District 9 Female Tribute ~**_

_DAISY SAYRE HAD IT COMING!_

I don't feel guilty at all about what we did to her. I mean, there she was on the previous level of the arena, gloating over the cache of weapons from President Coriolanus! What else were we supposed to do? She had the means to take us out on every other level of this arena, but we couldn't let that happen - especially me. I admit it: I slit Daisy's throat, and not that arrogant Career tribute Carter Gneiss, who took credit for the kill. I still can't believe he did that, right before we all fell through the trapdoor to this level. Good thing my blowgun was still in my satchel at that point, or I would have been poisoned by one of the darts! It's dark down here, but not so dark as it was on that level when that slut Peridot Sartor met her demise. In my opinion, Caissa should have too, but I'm not in charge here - as much as I wish I was! All around me, horrid _dragonflitoes _are buzzing and biting. They're muttations, like tracker jackers and mockingjays, and they carry almost instant fever. _Must…make it…to center of maze. _Why do I have such a long way to go?

I guess it's because, as we go deeper and deeper into the arena, the labyrinths are designed to become more diabolical. Not only that, but the trials we must endure become worse. The first level was so simple that even a five-year-old might have survived it, but not this one! Rather like the third section, with all the garbage lying around, this floor's maze is covered in viscous mud. As far as I can tell, however, there is no excrement here, but rather the debris found in marshes: decaying plants, dead fish, algae, and such like. It certainly smells like a marsh, and it's no more pleasant than one. I live in the Grain District back home, but there are wetlands that have not been drained yet. The gurgling of water is what you hear if you listen closely, and - wait - what's that gurgling _I _hear? Is that Emma Portnoy's head above the reeking muck?

_**~ POV: Emma Portnoy, ORANGE TEAM, Age 15, District 6 Female Tribute ~**_

_HELP! I'M TRAPPED AND SMOTHERING! _

"Faith, is that you? Thank goodness! I know we're on different teams, but -"

"Do you honestly expect me to pull you out of there? How did you fall into this bog pit in the first place?"

"I don't know; it just happened! All right, there was a cache of Morphling vials over here that I tried to get -"

"Once an addict, always an addict. You do know that lying to me isn't a good way to get what you want?"

"I'm sorry, Faith! Please!" I cough and splutter. "I'm going to go under in a matter of minutes! Help me!"

"Why should I, Emma? All you do, and all you've ever done, is complain. _Wah-wah-wah, _your life is hard. _Wah-wah-wah, _you have to overdose on pain pills. _Wah-wah-wah, _you have to lug other people's luggage around all day. Do you think I don't have problems, too? Unlike you, I don't need addictive medication in order to deal with them, because I have Jesus Christ. He's going to save me and my brother Noah. As for you, you're _damned, _and I won't even bother to 'say it in a nice way'! After all, there are more important things in this world than avoiding offending others. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a maze to complete."

"_WAIT!" _It's too late. Faith has run off, and I'm being sucked underneath the mud. I know I deserve it…

_**!/SQUISH/!**_

_**THE INFERNAL MAZE: CIRCLE FIVE: WRATH AND SULLENNESS: THE RIVER STYX**_

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM WALL-MOUNTED LOUDSPEAKERS ~**_

_**AH! Such a glorious sight, isn't it, this murky river? Careful now - don't fall in! This is the Styx, and all eleven of you are on an island in the middle of it. Do you see the island across from you? Please refrain from walking over to it just yet. I would like you to answer one question for me: Is there someone you hate? Is there someone you absolutely can't STAND? Now is your chance to eliminate them from the competition! However, the island platform will only hold two rivals. I need two more volunteers, and unlike our poor Dame Fortune, the victor of this fight will live to fight another day! WHO will be the one to summon his nemesis to battle him in a one-on-one brawl…?**_

_**~ POV: Mars Cutullo, RED TEAM, Age 17, District 1 Male Tribute ~**_

"_I VOLUNTEER! _Come on, filthy 'Kike' Ouroboros, or do I have to drag you over to the island myself?!"

_**~ POV: Isaac "Ike" Ouroboros, PURPLE TEAM, Age 16, District 12 Male Tribute ~**_

_I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS…_

Mars Cutullo is finally going to get what's coming to him. Here I am, or at least here I _was, _trying to live my own life without harming anyone! Now, however, I'm going to be forced to kill or be killed. Mars still has the rope with which he strangled Lance Umber, and a spear as well. As for me? I looted a nice quarterstaff from Daisy Sayre's treasure chest, which has helped me to navigate this muddy maze and fend off my fellow tributes. I haven't slain anyone with it yet, though. I hope to change that in a few minutes, however…

When Mars and I step onto the second island, both it and the one with the other tributes on it rise straight into the air, above the Styx. _How did the Gamemakers fit a whole river onto one level of the arena? _That is an architectural detail I'll have to figure out later, however, because right now Cutullo's charging at me! He's like a lion, agile yet strong, and it takes all my reflexes to dodge him on the circular platform. It's so high above the water that I fear I'll die upon splashdown, and several of the tributes are clinging to one another despite being on different teams. I see them out of the corner of my eye, and shudder. With a quick and sudden movement, Mars catches me off balance, and I tumble headlong into the River Styx…

_**!/SPLASH!/**_

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM WALL-MOUNTED LOUDSPEAKERS ~**_

_**WASN'T that GLORIOUS? What a marvelously wrathful display! I fear you must hold tight, tributes, because as fast as you ascended upon your own platform, you must descend to the next Circle. Before you do, however, please take a brief look at the names of the most-recently-deceased:**_

_**THOSE TRIBUTES LOST:**_

_**1. Emma Portnoy, ORANGE TEAM, Age 15, District 6 Female Tribute **_

_**2. Isaac "Ike" Ouroboros, PURPLE TEAM, Age 16, District 12 Male Tribute **_


	20. CIRCLE SIX: HERESY AND THE CITY OF DIS

_**THE INFERNAL MAZE: CIRCLE SIX: HERESY: THE LABYRINTH**_

_**~ POV: E.V. (also written as Eevee), BLUE TEAM, Age 13, District 3 Female Tribute ~**_

_WHY DOESN'T TAYLOR GET IT?_

"The Phoenixes have officially disbanded." I have to tell her this after she's cornered me in this new maze.

"What? _Why? _We're not all dead, are we? I know that Olivia, Special, and Haley are gone, but _we're_ not!"

"Oh, piss off, Birchwood! You know our alliance wasn't meant to last in the Hunger Games' later stages, especially when three out of five of us have been eliminated. Why do you still want to stick with it? As soon as Flavius put us on separate teams, our idea was nixed, so what's up? Why are you not attacking me?"

"Because you're my friend, or at least I thought you were! That is, until I saw you talking with _EE-FA…"_

I smirk. "What's the matter with that? She's bigger and stronger than you are, Taylor, and that means she can offer me more protection. Aoife may be missing two fingers, but she's tougher than you think. I'm not going to lie: I'm in a secret partnership with her instead of you. You can either join us, or the alternative."

"What, you're going to kill me?" asks Taylor. "You don't have the strength! All you've got is a wimpy little knife, which means you didn't take full advantage of Daisy's treasure chest." She dodges me when I try to aim my one simple blade at her head. "There was something in there for everyone, although, I guess, not for you." With another quick movement, she does a cartwheel as I throw my knife, aiming for her torso. "You know something, Eevee? You're just like Special." _WHAT?! Now I'm really mad. _"You're no friend. In fact, you're a heretic to the very idea of friendship, which means that people stick together!" All of a sudden, Taylor rushes me with her own weapon, a huge axe that she can barely lift. "Pathetic!" _She calls ME that? It's a wonder that this weakling can get that giant blade over her head! I'm going to take it away - _

_**!/CHOP/! **_

_**~ POV: Gordon "Ghost" Rivers, YELLOW TEAM, Age 15, District 11 Male Tribute ~**_

_WHOA! HELL HATH NO FURY…_

I've just seen Taylor Birchwood, a member of my own Yellow Team, cleave Eevee in the head! I mean, that's no surprise considering why we're in this horrible arena, but I didn't think she had it in her! I would hate to think what kind of plans she has for me when we get down to the final two: her and me. Of course it has to be us, because we're flying under the radar. I've lived up to my nickname so far, preferring to hide, watch and wait instead of moving in for the kill right away. I haven't slain anyone yet, but that's going to change pretty soon. With Eevee's death, the Blue Team is no more, and no team is perfectly intact now. I suppose I should protect Taylor, since she only got a four in training and I received a score of eight, but I simply can't. I have bigger fish to fry, and that means trailing him instead of her. He's within my reach.

Why do I hate Carter Gneiss? It's not just because he's a Career, or that he takes after Trainer Flavorless and yells out, "(D)igger!" when he thinks he sees me. From what I've heard and see in his interviews, he was going to be a Peacekeeper before he volunteered for the Hunger Games. Perhaps more than anyone else still alive in this arena, I know what it is to fear the people in white who make war instead of peace. In the Agriculture District, if you're caught eating any of the crops you pick, you're whipped in public. That never happened to me, because the Peacekeepers couldn't spot or grab me, but it happened to _him…_

I'm sure that everyone still down here has a skeleton in their closet. I've got mine, and his name's Jack.

He was my best friend back home. We worked as a team in the orchards: I climbed the trees and plucked the highest-hanging fruit, and he caught it all in baskets. Jack loved a good challenge, and he certainly got his trying to collect the delicious apples before they hit the ground. He was great at that, although sometimes they thumped to the earth. One time they did, and that was when Jack glanced up at me.

"_Ghost!" _he hissed. _"What are you doing, man? Stop eating those apples, before you get caught!" _

He was absolutely right. However, I hadn't eaten in three days, because some bigger guys from the tree pruning work gangs had been stealing my meals. They'd threaten to beat me up, and what could I do? I was only half their size, if not a quarter, and they were over two hundred pounds of muscle-bound beast! Knowing I would lose any fight to which they challenged me, I gave over all my meager helpings when it came time to eat. Thus, here I was up a tree, munching the fruits of my labor when I wasn't supposed to. A Peacekeeper was headed our way, and so I drummed up all my courage and jumped into the next one. While I leapt from tree to tree, taking as many bites as I could out of as many apples as I could, Jack was left on the ground to explain why he wasn't currently working. Not only that, but the monster in white saw all the apple cores scattered on the grass! He blamed Jack, and thus flogged him publicly _to death. _

I could have confessed, but I didn't. I let my best friend die because of me, and let the Peacekeeper win.

Now I won't. I can't bring Jack back, but at least I can "off" Carter, the son-of-a-demon who represents the man who killed him. In fact, if I squint, Carter looks just like the Peacekeeper, and he might as well be…

_**~ POV: C.Q. (also written as Ceekyoo), GREEN TEAM, Age 15, District 3 Male Tribute ~**_

_I REALIZE THAT I'M TRAPPED! _

Foolishly, I thought that this doorway would lead to the center of the maze, or at least be a shortcut to it. I should have known better! Without Euclid, however, all was lost. Aoife McCallan took him instead of me. She absolutely _sucks _at mazes, especially ones as convoluted as this one, which is six out of - how many? Eight? Nine? Ten? I certainly hope we're getting to the bottom of this, and I don't only mean the arena. Why all the insidious snares? Why all the extra tortures, such as the blistering heat of this particular level? I know that previous Hunger Games venues have had traps, but not traps as scary as this one. It's a cross between an oven and a tomb, which is why I'm surprised that the gas hasn't been turned on yet. As for Aoife? She had her garroting collar around my neck, and I begged for my life and offered Euclid instead. That beautiful Irish banshee could have taken my pet rat from my cold, dead corpse, but she let me go.

Why? I know I'm not going to win the Hunger Games now, but still: Is that a blessing or a curse?

I see that glowing light! Do you think I'm too stupid to recognize I'm being recorded, even in here? Thus, I have a little speech for you. I hope you like it, everyone who's watching, and you sadistic Capitol fiends:

"_Hello. My name is C.Q., and I'm about to lose the Hunger Games. I know the odds were only one out of twenty-four that I'd survive, but I still wanted to win. I wanted to go back home to my family: my father and my older brother, John. You have robbed me of that chance through drawing my name in the Reaping. I hold you responsible for my death, and not myself. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't even be here! That last statement goes out to all of you good people at the Capitol, but if no one else watched, would our annual massacre be so popular? I daresay not. You'd all tune in to something else, perhaps something even more bloody. I hate to think what that would be, but at this point, I'm not even going to try. Understand?_

"_I've always been told not to generalize or stereotype, but in your case, Capitol mercenaries, I'll make an exception. You keep the gears of the Games grinding year after year, and for what? I know it's only been two years since Katniss Everdeen and the rebels tried to fight you and lost, but at least they tried. I wish I could have been that brave. I would have joined her, but I was too wrapped up in the future I could have had. I was going to be an Engineer, and that's another chance you've stolen from me. That's all you do: You think you're hardworking and self-sufficient, but you're all a bunch of thieves. At least Olivia Dalton, that poor girl from District Twelve, had the honesty to admit that she took her livelihood from others!_

"_I can hear the gas hissing into this oven-like tomb from the walls, so I'll keep it short: Dad? John? I'll miss you. Euclid? I'll miss you, too, and also Caissa. For all of you, I'll recite a poem that my mother taught me:_

"_Seven turns and seven rivers, while everyone else goes straight. _

_Why don't you take the path they do? It's only appropriate._

_Instead, first you walk with Faith, along its great, enlightened road,_

_But then Doubt almost engulfs you in its wide and whelming flow._

_After you have crossed that river, Knowledge sits beneath your feet,_

_Until Error's waters murmur: 'What you've learned is all deceit!'_

_If you manage to get past them, Experience guides you then,_

_Helping you to swim through Ignorance's muck: a marshy fen._

_Wisdom's road, it calls and beckons, and you follow straight and sure,_

_Until Folly's waves nigh claim you: your mistakes you must endure._

_After you've redeemed them, Strength is what you've earned at such high cost,_

_Yet when Weakness seeks to drown you, you'll despair that all is lost._

_Climbing out of those dark depths, the path of Love is what you'll find._

_Don't let Hate, its waters swirling, cloud your eyes and make you blind!_

_On the far side of that chasm, Life's road makes its final bend:_

_When you cross the river of Death, your days are now at an end._

_Seven turns and seven rivers, while everyone else goes straight._

_Why don't you take the path they do? It's only appropriate._

_Seven turns and seven rivers! Why have you paid their great toll?_

_What have you learned through such wandering, and what have you gained?_

_A SOUL." _

I finally know…what I have won and lost…as…I'm about to make my seventh turn…

_**!/HISSSSSSSSSSS…./! !/WHOOOOOSH/!**_

_**THE INFERNAL MAZE: CIRCLE SIX: HERESY: THE ELEVATOR OF THE CITY OF DIS**_

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM SPEAKERS IN THE ELEVATOR ~**_

_**Ten little tributes that I hate. Two were cruelly killed, and then there were EIGHT! If you don't want to suffer from extreme vertigo, please look up at the elevator ceiling at the names of the departed: **_

_**THOSE TRIBUTES LOST:**_

_**1. E.V. (Eevee), BLUE TEAM, Age 13, District 3 Female Tribute. Slain by Taylor Birchwood. **_

**2. **_**C.Q. (Ceekyoo), GREEN TEAM, Age 15, District 3 Male Tribute. Gassed and burned in oven tomb. **_

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM SPEAKERS IN THE ELEVATOR ~**_

_**I think you're going DOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWNNNNN …HAHAHAHAHAHA…!**_


	21. CIRCLE SEVEN: VIOLENCE

_**THE INFERNAL MAZE: CIRCLE SEVEN: VIOLENCE: THE LABYRINTH**_

_**~ POV: Carter Gneiss, ORANGE TEAM, Age 18, District 2 Male Tribute ~**_

_WE ALL HAVE OUR SECRETS. _

Why should I be any different, and what's more, why should I try and deny mine at this point? The citizens of Panem have been watching my every move in these 77th annual Hunger Games - even when I sneak into dark corners of the mazes and go to the bathroom! - and yet they don't know the whole story. They don't know what I've done to several of my fellow Peacekeepers-in-training, and with luck, they never will. I'll admit it only to myself, because in my opinion, I'm the only one who deserves to know. With that said:

Do you know how cutthroat the Peacekeeper Training Academies are in District Two? They've always had a "law of the jungle" ethos, very much like the arena. However, unlike this multiple-level nightmare, the Academies are governed by strict rules and regulations. One of the most important is that Peacekeepers never turn against their own, whether they are officially on the force or in training. It's funny: you can write a rule like that on paper and expect everyone to obey, but in practice almost everybody breaks it. There's as much brutality and scheming amongst ourselves as there is against criminal suspects. It's how we keep ourselves strong, because only the strong survive. I've done my fair share of culling the herd.

However, that's not my secret. As much as I'm proud of weeding out those who can't or won't make it as Peacekeepers due to their weakness, I'm far more proud of taking down the strong. Let's face it: Where's the fun in beating up someone who never even stood a chance against you in the first place? Who would waste a real warrior on roach-killing duty? I only had to do that once at the Academy, as punishment for shattering my sparring partner's femur in three places, but I never let the Trainers' one particular underling forget it. "Snitches don't get stitches" in District Two: they get _coffins, _if you catch my meaning. Needless to say, Velaria was dismissed posthaste, and never fully recovered. She wasn't the first one, either. If it's not a leg, it's an arm, and if it's not an arm, it's a spleen or solar plexus. None of my rivals ever succeed.

My real secret is not that I eliminate them, but that I do so behind the good front I put up for everyone else. To the casual observer at my Peacekeeper Training Academy, I'm a model student and helpful assistant. I always have a smile on my face to conceal the rage I continually feel at having to spend one more day within those stone walls and tiled halls. You may ask: why did I do this, if I didn't want to be a Peacekeeper in the first place? The answer's simple, and twofold: my father expects success, so I do too. I may loathe what I've been forced to do ever since birth, but I take a certain primitive joy in knowing that I do it well!

_I hate mazes. This one's so hard even an Engineer couldn't solve it, and - wait - did I just see a "Ghost"? THIS ought to take care of him! One large rock thrown at the place where I think his ghetto head will be…_

_**!/SMASH/!**_

_I'VE GOT HIM! That's one less phantom to try and scare me, and now I've got to get to the maze's center!_

_**~ POV: Mikhail "Misha" Rybakov, GREEN TEAM, Age 18, District 4 Male Tribute ~**_

_IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW…_

I'm in Hell, as are the rest of us: no more and no less than I merit. That's what this arena represents, and what I may never escape. I _shouldn't _escape, because I betrayed and murdered my Uncle Vanya! Captain Harrigan be damned - he did threaten me, but I could have exposed him. I could have told the authorities, so why didn't I? It is only now, as I'm trying to wind my way through this taxing labyrinth and the hot, foul-smelling air, that I'm finally daring to face what's been keeping me up nights. The truth is that sticks, in the sense of negative incentives, always come with carrots at the end. Harrigan offered me another reason to kill the one man at the marina who knew exactly what was going on with its financial statements. If I did, he would legally adopt me as his son, and I would become heir to his fortune. I was tempted, and in the end, I yielded to it. I pureed shellfish, to which Vanya was lethally allergic, and slipped the mixture into his potato-and-corn chowder. Officially, his cause of death was a heart attack, but I know what induced it! Did Harrigan bribe the doctors and coroner not to check for any other maladies within his poisoned blood? He must have, or else I'd be in prison by now instead of the Hunger Games. _That _was why I volunteered: not to escape justice, but to embrace it. If the good Captain were true to his word, I'd inherit more money than all the sailors on all the ships of our District would ever see! However, I knew I didn't deserve one coin. What I _deserve_ is death, here in this man-made Inferno, and I'm more than likely going to get it. The only possible redemption for murder is if the murderer loses his own life. _An eye for an eye, _and so eternally.

I've also murdered Jeff Parker, and doubt that I did so completely in self-defense. I felt a certain thrill, a rush of blood to my head, when I heard his neck snap between my gnarled hands. What is it about taking the life of another man, especially a strong one, that makes my pulse race and my blood begin to boil? If killing disgusts me, which it does, then how come a part of me wants to _continue_ killing? Despite my guilt, and despite the way I hate myself for what I've done, a squirming worm inside me wants to live. Not only that, but this worm wants to conquer and win, turning what should be a suicide mission into a victory! I'll be celebrated as a hero if I emerge alive from the arena, when I should be vilified. How do I flee the grasp of the ghosts that haunt me - not only Vanya's, but Caissa's? Their eyes bore into mine at every moment!

My darling forgives me, but my uncle does not. At once, I receive love and hate, pardon and accusation.

My only hope is to hold on, for better or worse, and not kill anymore. I have to be finished with murder…

_**THE INFERNAL MAZE: CIRCLE SEVEN: VIOLENCE: THE RIVER PHLEGETHON**_

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM CEILING-MOUNTED LOUDSPEAKERS ~**_

_**OH, GOOD! I am SO glad you all made it to the center of this labyrinth, except for a "Ghost" who seems to have utterly vanished! What a pity. As for the rest of you, do you see the rickety-looking suspension bridge? Do you also see what's across from it? That's RIGHT: the doorway to the next level of the arena! I'm getting a little tired of trapdoors; aren't you? Besides, the perils you'll face, should you survive, deserve all of your strength and concentration. On with the challenge, then:**_

_**Do you realize why the air smells so horrid in this Circle, and why the elevator of Dis stopped in the MIDDLE instead of at the bottom? It turns out that the labyrinth you've just traversed is built above a boiling red river known as the Phlegethon! The only way out of the maze is across the bridge, but here's the catch: There are seven of you tributes remaining, but only FOUR planks. You will be handcuffed to a teammate, either your own or one that I so fairly choose for you. You shall both cross the bridge, or attempt to. However, every time a team or tribute arrives safely at the door to the next maze, a plank from the bridge will be removed. Won't that be so much FUN?**_

_**The teams shall be as follows: Mars and Aoife, Misha and Faith, Carter and Noah, and Taylor. **_

_**I am SO sorry, Taylor! You'll have to cross the bridge all by yourself, which means: LADIES FIRST!**_

_**~ POV: Taylor Birchwood, YELLOW TEAM, Age 14, District 7 Female Tribute ~**_

_TEMPERATURE OF THE RIVER PHLEGETHON: 212__ F_

_WHY AM I ALL ALONE?_

Why did "Ghost" have to get killed, especially before people like Mars or Carter?! I bet one of them did him in, and if I get across this bridge, I'm going to _GET_ them! Sure, maybe Noah or Misha did it, but I don't think so. They both seem like nice guys, because I know that both of them have spotted me in the mazes at one time or another and spared my life. Faith? She doesn't seem like the type to overpower my best teammate, and neither does Aoife. Then again, maybe I'm wrong and all bets are off_…IT'S SO HOT!_

One false step and I plunge into the river. Let's see: _Jump. Jump. Jump. JUMP! Whew - I made it!_

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM CEILING-MOUNTED LOUDSPEAKERS ~**_

_**Nicely done, Miss Birchwood! Let's remove a plank so that Misha and Faith can cross the bridge…**_

_**~ POV: Faith Goddard, GREEN TEAM, Age 16, District 9 Female Tribute ~**_

_TEMPERATURE OF THE RIVER PHLEGETHON: 212__ F_

_I WANT NOAH WITH ME!_

Instead, I'm stuck on the stupid Green Team and handcuffed to a killer. What rotten luck! Wait - there'sabsolutely no such thing, because God controls everything. He decides who wins and loses in life, giving or withholding His blessings depending upon your obedience. If you follow Christ's ways, then he showers you with His love and favor, but if you don't, He lets you suffer the consequences. For some reason, God has decided to test me, and I must pass this one if I'm going to survive. I have two things in my favor: I've been faithful to Him all my life, and I haven't murdered anyone so far in the Hunger Games. That's right, _murder: _there's no use calling the goal of this "competition" anything else. It may be a fight to the death, but that doesn't mean I should succumb to sin and take someone else's life - except in self-defense! I wish I could release myself from Misha and let him plunge into the Phlegethon below, but I can't. All I can do is try and keep my balance, since there are only three planks left on the bridge: _Jump. Jump. JUMP! _

_Hallelujah! The Lord has blessed me once again, and may He continue to do so in the arena's next level…_

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM CEILING-MOUNTED LOUDSPEAKERS ~**_

_**BEAUTIFUL! Let's remove yet another plank, and allow Carter and Noah to take their turn…**_

_**~ POV: Noah Goddard, PURPLE TEAM, Age 17, District 9 Male Tribute ~**_

_TEMPERATURE OF THE RIVER PHLEGETHON: 212__ F_

_THANK HEAVEN! MY SISTER'S SAFE. _

Deep down, despite what he's done, I suspect that Misha is a good man. He didn't try to knock Faith off balance or unlock the handcuff, although he certainly could have. Of course, he may only have helped because she's his teammate, but he didn't have to. It's almost like he was trying to protect her as well as help her to cross the bridge, and that's commendable. Now I have to do my part with Carter, whom I very strongly dislike. I won't use the word _hate, _because hatred is of the Devil, and I won't follow Satan's path. What I'm going to do is keep my head level, and my eyes upon the doorway to the next level of the arena. I won't look up or down, because that would only distract me. What I wouldn't give to be Orion Watts right now. _Jump. Wobble…JUMP! That was CLOSE, because both of us are beefy fellows, and we almost fell! _

_Bless thee, Almighty Savior, and please allow Faith and me to survive whatever torments lie ahead._

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM CEILING-MOUNTED LOUDSPEAKERS ~**_

_**UNBELIEVABLE…The last plank shall be duly removed, and now there's only one. GO, Red Team!**_

_**~ POV: Mars Cutullo, RED TEAM, Age 17, District 1 Male Tribute ~**_

_THIS IS IT. MUST…JUMP! _

Aoife's light, but I'm heavy. We both barely made it onto this one board that's left in the suspension bridge. In my own humble opinion, her handcuff is too big for her wrist, but - wait- why is she smiling like that? Why is she FREE?!

_AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH…_

_**!/SCALD/!**_

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM CEILING-MOUNTED LOUDSPEAKERS ~**_

_**Eight little tributes, all in a fix. Two more were martyred, and then there were SIX! I know you're badly shaken from your travails on the suspension bridge, but please glance at the names of the dead:**_

_**THOSE TRIBUTES LOST:**_

_**1. Gordon "Ghost" Rivers, YELLOW TEAM, Age 15, District 11 Male Tribute. Slain by Carter Gneiss.**_

_**2. Mars Cutullo, RED TEAM, Age 17, District 1 Male Tribute. Fell into the boiling Phlegethon - ALIVE - after being betrayed by Aoife McCallan. **_


	22. CIRCLE EIGHT: FRAUD

_**THE INFERNAL MAZE: CIRCLE EIGHT: FRAUD: THE LABYRINTH**_

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM CEILING-MOUNTED LOUDSPEAKERS ~**_

_**WELCOME! I hope all of you had a BLOODY good time in the last Circle! This one is ringed with concentric "Malebolge", or "evil ditches". Can you find your way through all ten? If not, I'm afraid your hopes of winning shall SINK. Catch my meaning? In order to aid you, your various sponsors have provided you with one pair of boots per tribute. I daresay you will certainly require them! **_

_**~ POV: Taylor Birchwood, YELLOW TEAM, Age 14, District 7 Female Tribute in Bolgia 2 ~**_

_THIS DITCH REEKS OF MANURE! _

It's absolutely chock-full of the stuff, and I'm up to my knees in it! Not only does it stink to highest Heaven - or to lowest Hell, as the case may be - but trying to trudge through its sludgy mass is almost impossible. Fresh dung has a consistency very much like mud, although a bit runnier, and mud doesn't have steam rising off of it. I can even see a few maggots worming their way through these slops, which makes me shudder as well as gag. I _hate_ those things! They remind me of something I can't quite recall - or can I? _Oh, no. I don't want to think about Becca. Not now, when I'm trying to make my way through this slop! _No matter how hard I try, though, the image of my former "friend" rises up unbidden in my mind. Her steel-gray eyes, framed by wire-rimmed glasses with thick lenses, pierce mine as I try to look up at the ceiling of this level of the arena (instead of the muck). Somewhere, this ditch has an exit, a bridge to cross in order to get to the next one. Why can't I find it? It's so dark down here, and that's why I have to keep trying. _Help me, Becca! I know I wasn't your real friend, and I only flattered you, but this time I really need you! _The only sound that greets my silent plea is even more silence. I suppose I deserve it, but it's not all my fault…

Have you ever felt so lonely you'll do anything for anyone, especially if they want to be friends with you? That was the bear trap I fell into, and let me tell you, I know a _lot_ about those. In the Lumber District, where people make their living from Panem's forests, those devices were quite common. As a member of the Lumber Preparation Crew, sometimes I had to tend lumberjacks who'd accidentally stepped in them. That was the only sort of prestige or recognition I ever got, aside from becoming an Ornate Woodcarver. People in the Capitol adore fancy furniture, and I wanted to learn the trade. To succeed, however, I had to try and work my way up the social ladder. For a while, I couldn't even do that, until I met Becca Maple.

Becca was the skinniest, ugliest and weakest girl on the Lumber Preparation Crew, and I cooked up a plan. The Ornate Woodcarver Apprentices, two girls and two boys, were the ones I was trying to impress, but I did that through Becca. I told her everything she wanted to hear - that she was great, and I'd be her best friend forever, and all that - but I didn't mean it at all. Becca was a sponge that leaked tears if I told her she was doing something wrong, but she soaked up all my flattery anyway! When I was sure I had her in the palm of my hand, I dared her to eat one maggot, then two, then three - in front of the Apprentices. The maggots were in our food, so it was easy. In public, the Apprentices said that they were impressed with Becca, but they were really impressed with _me. _They laughed at Becca behind her back, as did I. Right before I was drawn in the Reaping for the Hunger Games, they all said they'd recommend me to their foremen! That was my ultimate dream: no more creosote, no more Antinhale, and no more fainting! I would carve the loveliest furniture imaginable, etching swirls and leaves into its grainy surface forever. All I had to do was get Becca to eat a handful of maggots that a lumberjack found in a fresh pile of bear scat.

She did, and got very sick from doing so. "Did I do good?" she asked me, her teeth all brown and sticky. I said yes, although I was laughing so hard inside! _I thought no one in Panem would be stupid enough to do THAT! _Then the Apprentices told me the terrible news: "Nice try, Taylor, but you'll never be one of us." My dreams went up in smoke, and that was why I was secretly glad I was Reaped for the Hunger Games. Now, however, I'm not so glad. _GAH, this manure is like QUICKSAND! Oh, crap - it IS quicksand. Now I know I'll never get out of this ditch, and what's worse, I know why. My flattery has cost me everything…_

_**!/SPLURRRRRRP/!**_

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM CEILING-MOUNTED LOUDSPEAKERS ~**_

_**STEP right in, step right in to Ditch Number Six of the Malebolge! Grab a robe, my hypocritical tributes, and the HEAVIER, the better! That's right; put them on. They are weighted and lined with lead on the inside, as they should be. In order to progress to the four evil ditches beyond, you will have to walk ten laps around this ditch. This should be EASY: there's no manure, mud, or any other obstacles to your successful navigation of this depression. However, there is a catch: if you don't walk quickly enough, your collars will begin to beep. The faster they beep, the closer they come to EXPLODING! Understand? I've rigged them that way ESPECIALLY for you two…**_

_**~ POV: Faith Goddard, GREEN TEAM, Age 16, District 9 Female Tribute in Bolgia 6 ~**_

_NOAH AND I ARE HERE. _

_WHY?! _Ever since we were born, we have been faithful to the Lord Jesus Christ, so why this punishment? Why this trial at the hands of the most sinful and sadistic man in Panem? President Coriolanus is the one to blame, not us. He has continued the tradition of the Hunger Games, though he knows it's wicked beyond description! What's worse, he's done so not merely out of a sense of duty, but sheer bloodlust. In his opinion, the Hunger Games are not only a castigation of our twelve Districts for rebelling against the Capitol, but the most fun sport of all time. He's making sport of _us, _and I can't take it anymore! How dare he? He doesn't even believe in God, yet he's playing God with our very lives. I think that's the reason why he keeps talking to us in the arena. I've watched the Games ever since I was old enough to watch TV, and never before has the President of Panem taunted the tributes this way. If Coriolanus wants to demonstrate his power over us, then so be it, but he won't triumph. When I become victor, then our leader shall pay! _What about Noah? Doesn't he deserve a chance to win the Hunger Games, too? He's made it this far. _

My explosive collar is beeping faster. I have to keep walking, but this stupid robe is too heavy for me! It feels like one of those giant bibs that lab technicians put over your body before they X-ray you. However, instead of a bib covering only your front side, the robe covers all of me, from my hooded head down to my toes. I am literally clothed in lead, although the metal's not touching my skin, and that's why it's so hard to do ten laps around this ditch! Exercise has never been my strong suit, because instead of harvesting grain back home in District Nine, I took care of the field workers' children. I changed diapers and gave bottles by the dozen, and even though the work was quite exhausting, it never prepared me for this. Babysitting and scythe-wielding require two different sets of skills, though it seems that sometimes they're one and the same! More than once, I've wanted to send a few little brats to the next world, but I didn't. That's hateful. _Wait a minute: what lap is my brother on? What lap am I on?! President Coriolanus isn't telling us…OOF! _I've fallen down, and despite several efforts to rise, I can't get up. Noah? _NOAH! COME ON! HELP ME!_

_Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-_

_**!/SPLAT/!**_

_**~ POV: Carter Gneiss, ORANGE TEAM, Age 18, District 2 Male Tribute in Bolgia 9 ~**_

_THIS DITCH CONTAINS A GAUNTLET…_

Rather, I should say that hanging from the ceiling, around this particular ninth ditch as opposed to all the others, are eighteen pendulums. It's a good thing that I regularly had to run gauntlets as part of my training at the Peacekeeper Academy - although not like this! Every one of those swinging axes is razor-sharp. Can I get past them all? I'll have to, or else I'll be hacked to pieces. Why shouldn't I survive? I got a ten in preparing for these Games. Only Mars and Misha were stronger. If I'm going to leave the arena alive and win, this is just another barrier. _Here goes nothing. I've sown discord before, and sabotaged my fellow Peacekeepers' chances at the Academy, but so what? I only did what I had to do. One, two, THREE-_

_**!/REND/! **_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: After Carter's body is torn asunder by the first two axes, all of them stop.)

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM CEILING-MOUNTED LOUDSPEAKERS ~**_

_**Six little tributes suffer greatly. Half of them fell in the ditches, and then there were THREE! My congratulations, Noah Goddard, Aoife McCallan, and Misha Rybakov! You have survived all of the arena's torments, against all odds, and that is why you shall face its final and ninth circle. Let all of Panem place their bets on who shall become victor! Before you enter Cocytus, however, two things: Gaze upon the names of the wretched dead, and get some REST. Do you feel FAINT…?**_

_**THOSE TRIBUTES LOST:**_

_**1. Taylor Birchwood, YELLOW TEAM, Age 14, District 7 Female Tribute. Smothered in manure. **_

_**2. Faith Goddard, GREEN TEAM, Age 16, District 9 Female Tribute. Collar (and head) exploded.**_

_**3. Carter Gneiss, ORANGE TEAM, Age 18, District 2 Male Tribute. Hacked by gauntlet of axes. **_

_**THE FINAL THREE TRIBUTES:**_

_**1. Noah Goddard, PURPLE TEAM, Age 17, District 9 Male Tribute.**_

_**2. Aoife McCallan, RED TEAM, Age 18, District 8 Female Tribute.**_

_**3. Misha Rybakov, GREEN TEAM, Age 18, District 4 Male Tribute. **_


	23. CIRCLE NINE: BETRAYAL

_**THE INFERNAL MAZE: CIRCLE NINE: BETRAYAL: THE LABYRINTH**_

_**~ VOICE OF PRESIDENT CORIOLANUS, EMERGING FROM CEILING-MOUNTED LOUDSPEAKERS ~**_

_**Greetings from COCYTUS, the deepest and coldest pit in this arena! As in the other Circles, there is a labyrinth here, but its difficulty lies in the, shall we say, TREACHEROUS terrain. This lake is frozen solid, but you may ask: What has solidified? Not only water: Everything drains into the foul ice here, from the rivers Lethe, Styx and Phlegethon, to the runoff manure from Bolgia Two on the previous level, all the way down to the tears and blood that your fellow tributes have shed. AOIFE? MISHA? NOAH? You may be the final three survivors in the 77**__**th**__** annual Hunger Games, but rest assured that only one of you will emerge from my Inferno alive. Can you make your way through all four rings of Cocytus, known as Caina, Antenora, Ptolomea, and Judecca? To add to your peril, the cold winds of this Circle shall attempt to freeze your bodies, and you'll be summarily chased…**_

_**Do you hear that RUMBLING? Do you see those RED EYES? Meet the D.E.V.I.L., or the Demonic Electronic Vivisecting Intelligent Life-form! Not only will he pursue you through the rounds of this petrified and unimaginable foulness, but if he catches you, he'll EAT YOU ALIVE! Muttations are so overused these days, so I've found ANOTHER use for the bodies of your fallen comrades. With that said, let's open up the center of Hell for your slippery perusal. "Good luck" to all three of you!**_

_**~ POV: Mikhail "Misha" Rybakov, GREEN TEAM, Age 18, District 4 Male Tribute, in CAINA ~**_

_CAINA'S WIND CHILL: FIFTEEN DEGREES BELOW ZERO_

_TWO HOLES IN THE ICE._

I know they're not there by accident: they've been planned, perhaps from the very start of the Games! If I survived this far, one of the holes was meant for me, but who's the other traitor to their kindred? Long ago (or perhaps it only seems that way,) I heard Uncle Vanya tell a story about what happens to those who betray their own flesh and blood. It involved an icy lake just like this one, and the same dire fate within it. He was trying to warn me, although I didn't know it at the time. I was just a boy when I heard it, eight years old. Had he known what Captain Harrigan had in store for him, even back then? They had always been enemies, though secret ones. Uncle was too valuable an employee for Harrigan to fire…or assassinate.

_I should crawl into one hole. I should let the ice enfold me once and for all, and eternally pay for what I've done. _Still, that writhing worm inside me holds me back. I can only let tears pour down my face and freeze to it: _"Mne zhal', mne zhal', mne zhal', mne ochen' zhal'!" _I keep telling Vanya I'm sorry, over and over, even though he's not physically here. If he is indeed in Heaven, can he hear me down in this constructed Hell? In the midst of my anguish and grief, I hear the grinding sound of the D.E.V.I.L.'s gears. He's on the prowl! However, I hear someone closer: Noah, shouting for all of Panem to hear. His threat is grave:

"I'M COMING FOR YOU, MISHA! I won't let the D.E.V.I.L. get you, because I'm going to kill you first!"

For a moment, I'm tempted to step into the wet void that was carved out of Cocytus' wastes for me, but then I pause. In the depths of my despair, another voice calls out to me: _Go on, Misha! I know that you repent for killing ME, and I, for one, forgive you. Isn't that what Jesus Christ did on the cross, even though Noah's the Christian? Pick yourself up and RUN, and atone for your crime as a victor. Now, go, before I send God's angels after you! _Thus invigorated by my uncle's words, I obey them and bolt across the ice. I slip and slide, but somehow manage to stay ahead of the mechanical abomination and Noah - so far…

_**~ POV: Aoife McCallan, RED TEAM, Age 18, District 8 Female Tribute, in ANTENORA ~**_

_ANTENORA'S WIND CHILL: THIRTY DEGREES BELOW ZERO _

_HEADS. ALL…THESE…FROZEN…HEADS. _

Now I understand why President Coriolanus gassed us on the previous level of the arena and made us faint! How long were the three of us unconscious? Apparently, long enough for the Gamemakers to round up all the bodies of my fellow fallen tributes and transport - _freeze_ - them here forever. Their heads are sticking up above the ice, or at least the heads of the people who still had them when they died! Teddy Stearns is here, his expression eternally fixed in a smile of enigmatic peace. So are Lance Umber, Orion Watts and "Special" Lazuli. Those tributes whose heads are maimed are also present, such as Melissa Carrington and Brandon Shimkus. If I look beneath the lake, however, I see the bodies of those who don't have heads: Faith Goddard, for one, and Caissa Scheveningen for another. I throw up grandly on the ice. My vomit freezes. So do my mouth and throat, almost, and that means I'd better get out of here _FAST!_

Why did President Coriolanus bury all the tributes here, in Antenora? Is there something symbolic in that?

Never mind! If I'm going to survive and win the Hunger Games, I have to hurry. I hear the D.E.V.I.L up behind me, but there's no way in _HELL _I'm going to let him eat me! Sure, I betrayed Mars, and I'm not sorry. However, what was I supposed to do? On that bridge over the river Phlegethon, it was either him or me, even though we were both on the Red Team. There was no way that both of us were going to make it across, because with one plank in the middle of that stupid, rickety suspension bridge, only one person would have been able to keep their balance! Mars was a cruel and inhumane monster. I'm glad he's dead! That's the reason why I spat in his face when I saw his head, and let it freeze to his petrified left cheek.

_GAH, I JUST FELL DOWN! STUPID ME! STUPID ICE! STUPID D.E.V.I.L.! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO! _As the machine barrels down upon me, Euclid, Ceekyoo's stupid pet rat, scrambles out of my uniform pocket. He runs away just as the horrendous digital demon claims me for a meal - and as a penalty for my betrayal:

_**!/GULP/!**_

_**~ POV: Noah Goddard, PURPLE TEAM, Age 17, District 9 Male Tribute, in JUDECCA ~**_

_JUDECCA'S WIND CHILL: FIFTY DEGREES BELOW ZERO_

_WHY HAVE I LOST FAITH?_

Why didn't I aid my sister in the Hypocrites' Ditch? Why didn't I pick her up, lead robe or no lead robe, and assist her in her ten laps? Why didn't I support her, and help her keep walking? I was a sniveling coward! The truth is, as soon as I started slowing down, my explosive collar started beeping faster too. Faith or no Faith, I had to keep going, and it's a miracle I've made it here. This is Judecca, the closest part of Cocytus to the center of the maze! If I can only make just a few more turns, and before Mikhail does, I have won! I keep yelling at him to discourage him, telling him that crying over his crime is pointless. So are remorse and penitence. Down here in Hell, you can't repent anyway, so what does "Misha" think he's doing? God can't hear you this far in the abode of the D.E.V.I.L., whether it be man-made or spiritual. The only things that will keep me alive are sheer will and determination. My feet run as fast as they can without tiring or slipping on the ice, and the mucus freezes inside my nostrils. I need both of my strong arms for balance. I taunt Mikhail one more time: "You think you can just weep a few tears and be saved? _HA! _You fool!" I do this to distract myself, and hide the numb core of my soul. The last of it died along with Faith. Dear sister! If only you could see me now, so close to victory and yet so far. If you were here with me, you could propel me these last few steps, and - wait - who is that, completely encapsulated in a tomb of murky red ice? It's Trainer Flavius, of all people, who betrayed his Capitol masters through rigging Caissa's explosive collar! I can't believe it. How long has he been down here? It's so strange: it looks like he was buried in Judecca alive, because his face is contorted into one long, fixated, and eternal scream. I daresay he deserves it.

_CRACK. _

_What?! This can't be happening! Lord, save me and protect me, Lord, Lord, Almighty God and Savior…_

_**!/CRACK/!**_

_**~ POV: Victor of the 77**__**th**__** Annual Hunger Games ~**_

_HELLO, LITTLE FELLOW! YOU'RE ALIVE…?_

_Yes, indeed: you are alive, although frightened, weak, and half-frozen, just like me. Don't worry…Euclid. I shall take you home, and show you that you have nothing more to fear. Not now, and never again…_

When I regain consciousness, I find myself in a luxurious hospital at the Capitol, recovering. I have no real memory of what happened in the last level of the Hunger Games arena, except for a bone-penetrating chill and two words, _CAINA _and _CAISSA. _They both have three syllables, _kah-EE-nah _and _kah-EE-sah, _plus they rhyme. I remember them only vaguely: one brings hellish cold, and one brings heavenly warmth.

Am I a victor, or a corpse? Have I been resurrected from the dead, only to find existence is meaningless?

Only two things bring me hope: prayer to a God I do not know and can barely recall, and my furry friend. Euclid is the pet of a tribute from District Three, whose name was _- what? _The Capitol hospital staff may have given me back my life, but the arena has taken my memory. I know my own name: Mikhail Ilyich Rybakov, and my District, Four. I remember I was a tribute, but did I volunteer? I honestly can't recall. As for Euclid? The tribute from Three's father, a kind man, and the tribute's brother John said I could keep him. His tender licks and bruxing - teeth grinding when he's contended - let me know that, there is still a spark of glory among the world's darkness, and nothing at all like Panem's flashing camera lights. They are constantly in my face, but can they see the depths of my haunted eyes? Why can't I ever _remember?_

President…_Coriolanus?_…says he wants to see me. For what, I wonder, and will it bring me back my life?

_**FINIS 02/08/2013**_


End file.
